


The Scars we Earned

by Yoruhime



Series: Disturbia [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha status, Blood and Violence, Dark, Established Relationship, Gifts, M/M, Plans, Tattoos, Werewolf Healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 92,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1616060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoruhime/pseuds/Yoruhime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the fire, who still remembers the tragedy other than as a vague memory? The police classified the file as cold case, the Hunters are laying low, and the Hales have moved on...Derek hasn't.<br/>He hasn't forgotten, and certainly hasn't forgiven.<br/>But the others don't matter. They never did. All that matters is Peter, and the promise that Derek made to him - the one he's finally ready to fulfill. At any cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Yes, I'm back! I know, this is a lot quicker than I expected, but I'm sick and without much else to do today than to work on this Arc II, so...Don't get too excited, through, this is just a prologue, to set the tone a little. As you'll see, this arc is a bit darker than the first - even if I'd dare to say it's rather understandable.  
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Jason Thill has always been good at his job. His clan may not have the same weight than the Argents, but they're a fine Hunter family nonetheless – and inside the family, Jason is the very best. None of his preys have ever escaped him. He has faced down more shifters than he can even count – werewolves, of course, werejaguars...even, once, a furious kitsune. And he'd won – he'd fought, put down his target, and survived.

Which is why he's here tonight. When he first heard about it, he hadn't believed the rumor: there's no way the Argents would let an half-dead, potentially dangerous wolf live. Not when putting him down was so easy.

But when he had phoned the BC Long-term care facility, there have been no possible doubt – yes, Peter Hale was very much alive. Under the Argents' noses! Speak of the most efficient Hunter family...The beast was apparently unresponsive, for heaven's sake! You suffocate him with a pillow and let the hospital draw the obvious conclusion. One tragic, but perfectly natural death. Now, it's not that complicated, it is?

Maybe they think themselves too important to do the job. Jason snorts in disgust. When you put down rabid beasts, you don't get to play delicate and chose your prey. Especially not in this case. God, what if this thing suddenly wakes up from its catatonic state?

It would go on a killing spree, crazed with pain and rage, more rabid than anything ever seen before. Allowing Peter Hale to live is sheer madness – and Jason is going to bring an end to it. Considering the werewolf's state, it can even been seen as a mercy kill.

He briefly checks his knife – not that he thinks he'll need it, but you never know with werewolves. Some are very resilient.

He gets out of the car, streching after three hours of surveillance. He's a tall, rather well-built man, and only the grey starting to color his temples show he's closer to forthy than thirty. With his sandy blonde hair and brown eyes, he sure dosen't look like a Hunter.

Slipping the knife in the sheath on his forearm, he quickly scan his surroundings once more before walking determinedly towards the entrance. He expects a minimum of fuss, especially considering the late hour, but it's almost painfully easy to get the room number.

The nurse on duty looks at him pitifully the second he asks for 'Peter Hale', and he just has to explain he's an old friend who learned of the tragedy on the late for the woman to tell him what he wants to know before waving him through. 

He slips in the room and hisses in disgust. The wolf's lying on the bed, covers up to the waist. Some kind of bathrobe is concealing the scarring on his chest, but a simple glance on his half-burned face gives a good idea of the hidden damage.

From what intel Jason gathered, he has no visits at all. Good for his buissness, since it means he'll be able to do his job in peace. But still...helpless and alone - the man is beyond any repair, just like the reports said. At this point, Jason's just putting him out of his misery.

With a derisive shake of head, he sets a thin but regular line of moutain ash across the doorframe – just a basic precaution. He didn't live to forty years old by not listening to his somewhat paranoïd tendancies.

He steps to the side of the bed, draws his knife, and is about to slit the wolf's carotid – because if the Argents aren't able to put a sick dog down, they doesn't deserve the amount of efforts it would take to not put them in a precarious position. 

He's carefully angling the blade for a quick kill when the voice resonate behind his back, tense and surprised. “What are you doing here?”. Jason sheathes the blade back on his forearm in seconds and whirl around at the same time.

There's a nurse in the corridor, a woman with striking orange hair, staring at him suspiciously. Jason smiles his best charming grin. “Just checking on an old friend. I was abroad, and only learned recently of what happened”.

The nurse steps into the room, passing the barrier like it doesn't exist, and Jason relaxes minutely. Not a wolf, then. His instinct was saying so, but you never can be sure. “The visits are over for today”, she remarks coldly. “Since almost an hour. You shouldn't be here”.

There's something in her tone on the last sentence that makes Jason's hair stand on end. And the way she stands, legs slightly apart and shoulders squared...almost like she's barring the exit on purpose. The Hunter frowns. Something's not right, here. He needs to withdraw, he feels it in his blood.

He smiles again. “Of course”, he admits readily. “My apologies. I'll go”. He steps away from the bed, keeping his body langage carefully nonchalant. He barely has taken one step towards the nurse that she says, slowly, coldly, “You're here to kill him, aren't you?”.

It's not really a question, and yet the woman tilts her head slightly on the side, like she's curious about what he will answer. Jason suddenly has an inkling that he stepped into something a lot more dangerous that he thought, and he feels adrenalin rushing in.

“I fear”, he starts, keeping his voice perfectly even, “that I don't know what your talking about”. He's ready to draw his knife – to hell with the Code, there's something too deeply wrong here. A sensation of imminent danger, all of a sudden.

He slides on the left, and the woman's eyes follow him, cold and assessing. She isn't afraid in the least, even though he has a least fifty pounds on her. “Who sent you?”, she asks, and that's when Jason knows, without a doubt, that he made a mistake in coming here. “Was it the Argents?”.

He grits his teeth. “I told you, I have no idea...”, he starts, but she cuts him off. “Alone, then”. She nods brusquely, like it make sense. Then she says, voice piched louder but still too low to be heard in the corridor. “There's just him, apparently”.

For a second, Jason doesn't get it, and then...the words are too low. For an human. With a curse, he whirls around, putting his back on the wall, eyes alert, scanning the room. It's just as empty as it was upon his arrival, but it doesn't make sense. The mountain ash keeps any wolf out...

With a sense of dread, he look at the ash line by the door. It's broken on the side, a tiny, almost invisible dent. The nurse probably did it when she got in the room. It's small, but more than sufficent. The barrier is utterly useless, now.

With a swear, Jason grabs the vial in his pocket. But as he bends down to trace a line around himself – all the while cursing the stupidity that made him leave his gun in the car – he feels a presence right behind him.

He twists on the side, rolling away on pure instinct. He's waiting for claws to racks into his unprotected back, but it doesn't happen, and he ends his evasive move unstopped. Jumping back yo his feet, he find himself faced with a pair of glowing, neon blue eyes.

The werewolf doesn't seem intent on jumping on him to tear him to pieces yet – and Jason wonders why. After all, all he has is a knife. Surely the wolf could rip him to sherds without breaking a sweat. Except...except they're in the hospital.

Jason grins, certain he just found a way to walk away unscathed. “We're in a public place”, he reamrks airily, a sly tilt to his lips. “How do you intend to kill me here without every nurse coming running? I doubt you...friend...over here can keep all her collegues out”. There's no answer, so he continues with a newfound calm, “So here's the deal. You let me out of here, and I don't come back”. _At least not alone_ , he inwardly adds, keeping his face blank. The eyes barely blink.

“Is he okay?”. The sudden question makes Jason jump a little, more in surprise than in fear. He thought his opponent was a old, experienced wolf – how else explain the way he'd made himself undetectable til the last second? But the wolf's voice is clear and smooth, yet still young. Twenty, twenty-five at best.

He frowns, opens his mouth, but the nurse beats him to the punch. “Yes, I believe so. I got here before he could do any damage”. There's an unconviced grunt from the outline in the corner, and the wolf steps forwards, letting the moonlight throw his features in sharp relief.

“Check, just to be sure”. The voice is perfectly calm, but the threat under it is palpable. “If he had the time to use wolfsbane, we'll need his weapons to create the antidote”. The nurse nods. She closes the door behind her and moves towards the bed, careful to stay very much out of Jason's grabing range.

He mentally curses all he knows. The motions of the nurse are too practiced, too swift. It's not the first time she's in this situation, Jason'd stake his life on it. He promptly winces at the poor metaphor choice. But still, he thinks he just found out why the sick dog on the bed hadn't been put down.

He apparently has gardians. 

Jason reports his attention on the biggest threat in the room. The young wolf hasn't moved, not even to try and put himself between Jason and the now free path to the door. It's like he's certain he can get in the way quickly enough, no matter where he stands. 

This kind of confidence comes from experienced certainty, which is surprising considering the age of the wolf. The perfect stillness is also nerve wracking in one so young, and Jason details him, trying to understand.

He's rather tall, sleekily muscled in a way that speaks of fighting muscule stucture – as opposed to the near useless habit of iron-pumping. His face, with high, sharp cheekbones, is on par with the rest: handsome – a basic trait of his species.

More worrisome is the way his eyes – cold electric blue – don't leave Jason, intent and considering. Waiting, calmly, for the nurse to finish her check and say if they need the hunter alive or not. He's not exhibiting any signs of guilt or anxiety over the fact that he's planning how to kill a man.

Fuck. This is bad. Jason draws his knife, decided to die fighting, and the wolf imperceptibly shifts his weight in answer. The nurse's voice seems to echo in the tense silence. “He's fine as far as I can tell”, she announces.

Jason doesn't wait for the wolf's answer. He throws his knife with deadly accuracy and without any warning, aiming right for the heart, and at the same time, plunges towards the door. If he manages to get out of the room, they won't dare to attack him in the open.

He barely has made a step that he feels a hand close aroud his wrist, tugging him back with unescapable strength, instantly followedd by a knee to the groin that makes him double over helplessly, breathless, black spots dancing before his eyes.

From afar, he hears the wolf's voice, asking, “So you're certain we don't need him?”. The nurse must make some sign of agreement, because next thing he knows, he's hauled up mercilessly. He vaguely wonders how they intend to get him out without raising questions, and then...

Pain explodes everywhere in his body, bruning in every vessel, every organ, like he's tearing himself up from the inside out. He screams soundlessly, uselessly, for what seems to be hours, before everything brutally stops.

Jason closes his eyes, relishing into the sudden disppearance of the pain. He falls into darkness.

***  
Derek stares down at the lifeless body. He's still impressed when this new trick of his works so easily. It's a recent discovery, actually, barely a year old. But very useful nonetheless.

Still, he muses, grabing the shovel propped against a nearby tree, who would have thought that Derek's intent and feeling upon teleporting could affect his passengers' health like this? If he wants them safe and protected, then there's no problem. They materialise safe and sound, if a bit dizzy.

If he doesn't, however...well. They tend to rematerialze quite dead, as he discovered when the first Hunter of a long list had tried to kill Peter off.

Three years ago, the idea of killing somebody out of cold blood – because let's be frank, he's perfectly aware of what he's doing when he teleports that way – would have made him feel sick to his core. Now...not so much.

It's not that he isn't bothered, per se. He's perefectly aware of how much blood he's had on his hands these last three years; sometimes he even feels guilty over it. But simply looking at Peter's defensless form, scarred almost beyond recognition on his hospital bed, soothe all his doubts.

If he doesn't protect Peter, no one will – well, maybe Jennifer. Certainly, even, since she's in love with Peter, in her twisted way. Or so she says. Derek prefers not to challenge the claim and have her helping – and she's been useful, keeping watch on the day, when Derek can't. 

But for all she's a creep of a psycho, she's human. Easily overpowered, especially by a trained Hunter. She may keep a hawk's watch, warn Derek of any threat, but when it comes to dealing with would be killers...That's Derek's job.

He lifts the dead weight easily enough, dumps it without ceremony in the hole he just made, and stares down at the hunter's body, eyes hard and unforgiving. The man would have killed Peter without any guilt whatsoever.

Why should Derek feel guilty over killing him first?


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for the long wait, althrough I fear it'll become usual in the next months or so...Anyway, let's plunge back into the Disturbia verse with this first chapter.
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

“Mr Hale! Would you care for a pillow, while you're at it?”

Derek's eyes snap open, and he barely manages to keep himself still instead of jumping out of his chair – these days, he's ready to fight to death at second's notice. And, he thinks fiercely, aiming his darkest glare at Harris, there are days when he would gadly do so. The killing part, he means.

With a sigh, he rubs a hand down his face before trying to answer without sounding like he'd strangle the teacher with utmost pleasure. “I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again” he says, keeping his voice as bland as he can.

Harris' face twists into a faux-understanding grimace. “I don't doubt that, Mr Hale...”. The teacher's lips strech into a mocking smile. “Except it's the third time in two weeks, and I'm...”. Harris momentarily suspends his sentence as he glides closer to Derek's desk.

“...tired of it!”, he ends in a furious hiss, right into Derek's face. The young wolf keep silent – while inwardly imagining punching him in the face and leaving. Leaving this useless, sorry excuse for a school, and be able to keep watch over Peter rather than worry about him all day and having to count on a psychopatic nurse to do it in his stead.

He clenches his hands on the sides of his chair to resist the temptation, and he slowly repeats, “I said I'm sorry sir. I don't see what else I can do”. For all his efforts, he can't help the hint of anger in his tone. And frankly, he believe he's entitled.

Harris is falling on him like a vulture at the slightest occasion these days. Since the fire incident became common knowledge, in fact. He jumps at every occasion to lay on Derek, and Derek is seriously reaching the end of his patience. What the fuck did he ever do to the guy, for heaven's sake?

As expected, Derek's show of exasperation only encourages Harris. “Oh, do you have a problem with the fact that I refuse to cater for your every whim, Mr Hale? It's true that these days, everybody is at you feet, isn't it? Poor, poor little Derek, with his burned to death uncle...”

 _Oh, no. Oh no, you don't. Not that. You don't get to use that_. “Leave Peter out of it”, Derek hisses savagely, eyes like burning coals. “You shut up about him, you hear me?”. Later, Derek will blame his sudden loss of control on his exhaustion – spending his nights watching over Peter is taking its tool.

And Peter...Peter is always, always a raw crack in Derek's armor, because it hurts, hurts so much to think of him, helpless and in agony, and Derek unable to do anything... _But not anymore_ , he reminds himself. _You got it, now. He'll be okay soon_.

The reminder is enough to calm him down, and he's already gathering his bag when Harris chokes out, red with indignation, “To the principal's office! Now!”. Truth is, Derek is all to happy to obey, if only because it allows him to get the fuck out.

He steps in out of the room and forces himself to walk at least the corridor's length and turn at the corner, to make sure he's away from prying eyes, before he props himself against the cold rows of lockers. He closes his eyes with a sigh.

 _That_ was remarkably stupid on his part. And rather unusual – he may not be the most patient man in the world, but these days, he's generally able to keep his temper in check better that that, even when the subject falls on Peter. He sighs again. Deep down, he knows very well the reason to his short-tempered reaction.

He's bone tired. Simply exhausted to the point even his werewolf abilities have a hard time keeping him on his feet, much less thinking straight. Actually, if he wasn't a wolf, he probably would have crumbled already.

He has to follow his classes during the day – he can't afford to have social services or whatever the fuck else pulling his legs. He's twenty-one, so they mostly leave him alone, but he knows very well they're keeping an eye on him. He lost count of the number of counselling propositions. And at night, he goes straight to Peter. 

When it's a good night – like it was in the fist six months after the fire, when every Hunter out there believed Peter was under the Hales' protection – he manages to get his homework down. At minima, but enough to keep his grades mostly up. When it's a bad night...Well. It varies. Depends on the Hunter, on the technique. On Jennifer having time to warn him or not.

The first year, he was terrified of it and sick with guilt over every body he buried – when he wasn't just plain sick from teleporting somebody with him. Now, he got used to it – and his new trick makes things a lot easier, because as it turns out, teleporting a dead body is akin to taking a big, heavy bag with him. The energy cost is barely higher than when he moves alone.

But still, for all he got over himself about the necessity of killing, it doesn't change the fact that he grabs about four, five hours per night – he can't really sleep, not when he's keeping watch, so he goes into half-awake state most of the time, which is not conductive to one's rest.

And that regimen has been going on for three years.

Of course, there's days when he just calls in sick and sleeps about twelve hours straight – something close to a half healing transe, before he gets back up to his nightly surveillance. And even through it does him a world of good, it's still not enough.

Oh, it does recharges him up for about the next month or so, which is always a relief, but in the end, exhaustion invariably catches up with him. And these days, he really doesn't have the time to play poor ill student with the administration.

Because Alexander is not only an asshole, but a smart one. He knows how much Derek needs him, and his demands are becoming...”Hale? What the fuck are you doing here?”. The gruff voice pierces through Derek's reflections, and he opens his eyes, already knowing who he's going to see. “ Hey, Coach”, Derek greets – rather sincerely, because Finstock is about the only teacher he can bear with these days.

Finstock eyes him warily in return. “Hale, I'm warning you right now, if you throw up on me, I will throw up on you right back before letting you crawl to the infirmary”. Derek can't help it. He laughs. This is why he likes the sport Coach – because he's weird, and insensitive, and exccentric, and didn't change his attitude of one iota when he learned of the fire. Still crude, sometime bordering on mean. Still the same strange sense of honor.

With Finstock, you never know what the reaction to your words or act will be. The man often praises what sould be reprehensive behavior, and punish what he considers unfit comportement – even through his standards aren't exactly in the norms.

Case in point with Derek about two months after his return at school. Still strung like a bow by his grief and rage, had beaten the shit of one of the WASP kids that thought that he was murmuring low enough when he said a “Frankly, if was up to me, I would have left the poor man his dignity and allow him to depart pacefully. I mean, burned as he is, even if he gets out of his coma...” 

It probably had been something taken from whatever catholicism shit the guy what listening to every Sunday – maybe it even had been said with good intentions. Not that Derek had wondered: he litteraly saw red and jumped on the kid. He's still wondering how he'd managed to keep the shift in.

Finstock had been the one to haul him off the other boy and drag his ass to the Provisor...but not without letting Derek blow off steam for a good five minutes – and considering the man had already been in the corridor when Derek attacked, well...As he said, weird little man.

Not unpleasant through. Not really. So Derek allows himself one of his nowadays very rare grins as he answers, “Don't worry, Coach. I just have to good to the Provisor's office – kind of insulted Harris. But I'm fine. Not gonna throw up on anything, Scout's honor”.

Finstock eyes narrow like he's considering something. “No, you're not”, he finally announces decisively. Derek blinks. “I'm...sorry?”. The Coach rolls his eyes like Derek's being thick on purpose. “You're not fine, genius. Actually, I declare you unfit to go in classes, and I'll tell so to the Provisor”.

Derek stares at him. “I...Is this some kind of twisted way to show your appreciation at me insulting Harris?”. Finstock frowns. “Of course not, Hale. That would be highly unprofessionnal from me”. The man cocks his head on the side thoughfouly before adding. “But just between us, I never liked the prick. He was always staring his nose down at me like the pompous arse he still is”. Derek's eyebrows rise at that. No arguments from him here.

“Anyway”, Finstock concludes, “I'm going to go tell the Provisor you looked positively green and so sick I sent you home immediately. And you, “ he adds, jabing a finger in Derek's chest, “are going to move your ass, so you're a long way from school in case they decide to verify your health for some reason. Got it?”.

Derek is many things, but he's no idiot. No way he's letting his chance pass.“Crystal, Coach. I'm already gone far, far away”. Finstock nods his approval as the young wolf quickly walks in the direction of the parking.

***

Derek slips in the driver's seat, but pauses before turning the keys in the ignition.

He has most of the afternoon free, and as much as he'd like to get a few hours of sleep, he can't really afford it. All of his plans are coming together at the same time – it's kind of the goal, in fact – so he needs to be more alert than ever. 

Alexander... _is getting on his nerves_ , is the first thing to come to mind. If Derek didn't need him so desperately...So. The man's a sorry excuse of a son of a bitch, but beyond that, he shouldn't be too hard to manage in the end. At least, Derek is certain the other Gifted won't stab him in the back.

Well. Not until he got what he's in for. The guy wants Logan's skin even more than Derek does. Not that he'll get it in the end – it would be very contrary to Derek's interests - but as long as he believes it...

In short, Alexander is mostly under control. In fact, as long as Derek's second part of the plan works, and if he obtains what he needs from Deaton...Alexander should be under control period. If anything because he'll be very much dead. And since their next contact is meant to decide when and how they'll get the Callen Alpha, Derek doesn't need anything more from the other Gifted at the moment.

But from Deaton...saying Derek needs his help is like saying a man needs air. His whole plan is resting on the Emissary's cooperation. If the man refuses to give Derek a hand...Well. He'll try it the hard way, of course he will. No way he'll let go and bow down.

But it will get exponentially harder. And much more hazardous, which is a bad mix at best. And at worst...at worse he'll risk a fail, and that is just unthinkable. He swore he would succed. To himself, and to Peter, even through his lover was in a coma when he did. 

He won't fail. Not now.

***

Derek parks besides the vet clinic, and takes a second to think this through. The truth is, he doesn't have any idea of how he's going to make this one work. Logan and Alexander, he can get with blackmail easily enough, but Deaton? He closes his eyes, letting the back of his skull hit the headset morosely. Except for outright asking, he can't do much – the other option would be to take what he needs by force, and that is...a dangerous idea.

Oh, he will do it, if it's the last resort, but still, Emissaries are considered almost sacro-saint. You don't attack one without consequencies, from the Emissary himself and, more importantly, from the Emissary's Pack. And that's the main problem, because Derek doesn't have any doubt about what the Hales would say of his plan – especially if they learn the goal is to heal Peter. That's why he waited so long, almost too long, in fact, to contact Deaton. 

His ties to the Hales makes him a (very) wild card. Derek saw Deaton about three times in his life, and from afar. He never spoke to the man, never even to say hi. Best case scenario, the Emissary doesn't know him and Derek gets a chance to argue his – certainly crazy-looking - case.

Worse possibility? The Hales – James or Thalia – have spoken of him, said he is Omega, Gifted and unstable, and Deaton throws him out.

The life goal of Emissaries, beyond any alligence to a Pack, is to maintain balance. And Omegas, by definition, are the very opposite of balance. So Gifted Omegas? That's gotta be the biggest alarm bell _ever_. Derek sighs. While he may not have the upper hand, or, more to the point, _any hand_ on this one, sitting here won't accomplish anything. Except maybe making the vet believe he's being stalked. Whatever happens is better than nothing. 

At the very least, it'll give Derek an idea of what to do next; and he can use this visit to see what the place looks like. If he ultimately needs to teleports in, better not to crack his head on a desk or a closet. 

He gets out of the car, puts the alarm on, and waits for the customer inside to get out before going in. He really doesn't need witnesses, especially considering the matter at hand. The bell at the door chimes cherfully when he pusheshis way in, but the gentle sound does nothing to abate Derek's nerves.

The thin ice he's walking on notwhistanding, the simple fact he can detect the acid smell of mountain ash under the antiseptic bleach that permeates the air makes his hair stand on end and his wolf growl in warning, a deep, steady rumble of tension.

No werewolf likes to be in contact with mountain ash, nor to be in small, closed off spaces, but Derek balks at it even more than most. Mayhap it comes from his Gift – being free to go anywhere he wishes at moment's thought has become as natural as breathing.

The possibility of being restrained in any way makes him grit his teeth in frustration and anger, but he still steps up in the room, spine ramrod straight, eyes running all over the place. If the chairs against the wall are any indication, this must be the waiting room.

Derek rolls his eyes but does props himself against the wall with a huff - better not to make a scene or risk exaspering the Emissary by trepassing. He's been waiting for three years, he can wait a bit more.

Doesn't keep him from letting his eyes roam – by caution as much as curiosity. The ash's scent is very diffuse in the air, not a trail to follow but rather like a cloud covering the whole clinic, and Derek eyes narrow. It's almost like...

Carefully, he puts a hand on the counter, half expecting some kind of barrier. And there is, if not a strong as he thought – it's more like his palm is firmly pushed back by some kind of invisible, if thin, wall. He's pretty sure it wouldn't keep him from getting in, but it'd definitely slow him down.

The furniture itself is laced with ash, he realizes. It's more than enough to make teleportation rather risky, and Derek inwardly curses the Emissaries and their not-so-subtle paranoïa.

So, the option 'forcing Deaton', which was bad-looking already, just got taken down a few more notches. Just great. It only means that if he fucks the disscution part of the afternoon up, he'll be left clinging at straws and impossible plans. Derek closes his eyes. After three long, draining years, he has everything exactly how or where he wants it.

Alexander willing to help, mostly. Logan, on which blackmail will work very well, and Jennifer at the hospital to wrap things up...He can do it. He knows he can. 

He just needs this last, vital puzzle piece.

He hears footsteps behind him, and Deaton's voice, deep and calm. “I'll be with you in a min...”. The sudden intake of breath crushes Derek's last hope of getting his chance at explaining without bias in the conversation. With a rueful smile, he turns around to met the Emissary's surprised, wary gaze head on.

“Good afternoon, Mr Deaton”. Derek's smile never reaches his eyes, but his voice stays perfectly equal. “You probably already know, but allow me to introduce myself: I'm Derek”.

Deaton's shock disappear as quickly as it came, leaving his face frustratingly blank. “Yes”, he answers slowly. “I already knew, indeed. Derek Hale. James told me about you”. Derek does nothing to hide his derisive shake of head.

“I don't doubt it”, he mutters disgustingly, before looking back at the Emissary. “And I don't doubt that the image he painted wasn't very flattering”, he adds, a hint of mockery in his dry tone. Deaton is still staring at him, unnervingly calm.

“You'd be surprised”, the vet finally says almost gently. “But”, and his expression sharpens as he says it, “I suppose you're not here to disscuss your Father”. That draws Derek from his momentaneous surprise (what does he means, 'you'd be surprised'?) and right back into the present conversation.

This is not the moment to lose his head. He's about to start on his prepared speech when he hesitates. Deaton is Emissary – he probably hears more diplomatic bullshit in a year than Derek will in his entire life. All flourish babble, and in the middle, your actual request.

It's what Derek was about to do; to wax lyrics and tragedy around Peter's state and James unfairness, about his own rejection. But on a sudden whim, he abandons it all. Squaring his shoulders, he meets Deaton eyes, and says simply:

“I need your help”.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here chapter 3, betaed once again by El, who is back in buisness! Oh, and before I forgot, she also made gorgeous cover art for both Disturbia and The Scars we Earned: you can find it on DeviantART at: http://sybehal.deviantart.com/. Thank you so, so much, my dear!
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Deaton stares at him for a few seconds before he steps back in a clear invitation to get beyond the counter, and Derek moves forward without giving himself the time to overthink this. It's what he wanted; he found a way in, a way to make the vet listen.

It's all that matters.

And besides, he doesn't really believe he's in danger here – at worse, Deaton could have thrown him out. Instead, he just got invited in. If the Emissary is ready to listen, it means that the possibility of being attacked is rather low.

“Take a seat”, Deaton tells him. “I'll just go close the clinic so we can discuss in peace”. Derek nods in thanks. He's about to sit down when he hears a low growl coming from the room beyond – the shelter, he thinks - and he can't help his curiosity, switching his vision to pierce the shadows. Here. On the last cage on the left, a big dog – some kind of sheepherd, Derek remarks idly. 

Its fur, probably white in the past, is now mattered of red and purple. The animal is growling seadily, like its daring anyone to approach him, benefactor and abuser alike, the difference between the two long forgotten. Derek swallows. There's rage and savagery in the low sounding rumble – it's a full-on threat, not a warning. It's the mad dare of an animal close to rabid, crazed with pain and terror and hatred, a promise of violence and blood to anyone who get close.

He rips his eyes from the animal when he hears Deaton coming back, only to find himself on the receiving end of a keen gaze. And suddenly, Derek is certain that the beaten, enraged dog isn't here by hazard, and the unspoken parallel makes him nearly choke on his anger. “He won't end up like that”, he hisses between too long teeth. “How dare you...”.

The rest of the sentence dies, lost in the urge to shift and rip into the man. “He's not some kind of animal!” Derek finally spits out when he has found enough control for it.

“No”, Deaton admits calmly, like he didn't notice Derek's near loss of control. “You're right. He has the mind of a man as well as the senses and the strength of an animal – of a predator, I may add”. There's a hard glint in his eyes, and in a split-second change, it's the Emissary who is now speaking.

“Can you tell me how he'll be if he wakes up? Can you really assure me, without a doubt, he won't end up some kind of monster, ravaged by his suffering and hatred?”. Derek wants to say no. He should say no, immediately, and surely. But he can't. Because truth is...he can't be sure. Not when he knows Peter as he does – because as much as the man isn't the kind to hold grudges, being left to burn, and having to heal from it, all alone, or almost...It would make anybody enraged with pain and betrayal.

He looks back again on the pain-crazed dog in next room for a long moment. “No”, he finally admits in a low voice. “I can't tell you how he'll end up”. He raises his eyes to Deaton, fierce and burning. “I can't he won't be angry beyond measure, because he has every reason for it”. Hell, even Derek feels hatred these days, and he didn't go through half of the things Peter did.

His uncle has been abandonned, twice now, when he needed his Pack the most. Cast out, and then left to burn – and he wouldn't have every fucking right to his anger? To his hatred?

He stares to Deaton, jaw clenched hard. “So that's what you think? That he should be put down because he's too dangerous? Because he's a lost cause? Too far gone?”. Derek smiles, cold, eyes glinting dangerously. He leans forwards, until he can see evey nuance in the Emissary's eyes. “Then tell me something”, he asks. “If it's what you really believe, then why”, he waves his hand at the seepherd in his barely big enough cage, still growling all he can, “didn't you put the dog down? He seems pretty lost, too”.

Deaton's lips thin. “The parallel isn't relevant to this”, he counters calmly. “You said it yourself. Peter will be drowned in hatred – and he is a danger far more important than any simple dog could be. He could slaughter half of Beacon Hills before he's put down”.

Deaton leans in too, eyes urgent. “It is really what you came to ask me, Derek? My help to get him out of catatonia and risk unleashing him on the town?” The vet shakes his head. “I'm sorry, my boy. But I can't, in good conscience, do that”.

Derek rears back, mouth twisted in a disgusted grimace. “So he pays the price for the cowardice of my Father? Of the Hale Pack? I am really the only one who has a problem with that?”. Deaton averts his eyes, and Derek pushes his advantage desperately.

“You know the Hales”, he remarks intently. “You know the story. Christ... Didn't he suffer enough already?”. Derek closes his eyes – he still has a chance to get what he came to seek, if he play his cards carefully.

The man in front of him sighs before rising. “You are right about this. He did suffer more than his share. But it's what makes him so dangerous – I know Peter Hale. I meet him, and I know, more than most, how devious and ruthless this pain made him”. 

He turns back to Derek. “Can you deny it?”. He asks like he's daring the young wolf to refuse the evidence, and Derek presses his hands flat in the wooden desk, head bowed, thinking fast. Of course he can't deny it. How could he?

“No. I know what he's capable of”. He lets out a breath, and his eyes seek Deaton's. “I know what you're referencing to – the humans he killed to bring the Lauren Pack down. And I don't deny it was an act devoid of mercy. He never denied it either”. Derek swallows, trying to explain how he can excuse this while Deaton visibly sees it as an uncrossable line. “He did it to protect his Pack – he knew the cost, he knew he wouldn't be forgiven, but he did it nonetheless, because they were too precious to him to let them die”.

There's almost, almost a plea in his voice when he adds, “Don't you have people you would kill for, too? Persons you love enough to do about anything for them, no matter the cost?”. Deaton clicks his tongue, Derek's point visibly touching a nerve.

“It's not so simple, Derek. Peter is a killer, he proved it several times over, and...”.

He's cut off by Derek's humorless laugh. “Come on, not you of a people, Deaton”. Derek shakes his head. “I already heard it from my Father, but you...Are you really going to play the guiltless one?". The other arguments were acceptable. But that? Derek won't let the man use that. “Peter is a killer, yes. So am I – I killed three Hunters the night of the fire”, _and a buch of others since, he doesn't add_. 

“So is my Father – his hands covered in Gifted blood”. Derek eyes narrow. “So are you, Emissary. How many people did you kill in the name of balance? Go ahead, do tell. I have a feeling it's quite a number, isn't it?” The young wolf laughs again, terribly cold. “You don't get to play superior when you have deaths on your conscience as well. We're _all_ killers”.

There's a long minute of silence after Derek's diatribe, and then Deaton steps around the desk to come and put a hand on his shoulder. He seems almost pained. “What happened to you, Derek? I don't know you that well, but the boy I remember would never have resorted to such an ugly argument”.

Derek helds the stare without wavering. “Ugly but true”, he retorts impassively. A second later, his lips twitch in something resembling a thriumphant smile as he adds defiantly, “Or do you deny it?”. Deaton sighs at the unveiled attack and removes his hand, but Derek doesn't wait for his answer.

“And as for why I turned so cynic, you may want to ask James”. Derek shrugs carelessly, like it doesn't matter. “He's the one who threw me out – it tends to age you fast”. Out of the corner of his eye, he's spying the vet's reaction, and the shock on the man's face is evident. He smiles. “Oh, you didn't know”, he continues, not bothering to fake surprise.” My apologies. I would have announced it more gently if I had known”. Not that Derek really means the politeness in any way, but he supposes he better stay courteous.

Deaton looks at him, not fooled in the least. “No”, he says sadly. “I don't think you would have, and I'm sorry for it – sorry that you became so jagged and mistrustful”. Derek takes the words with hardly a flinch. He's perfectly aware of how much he has changed.

“I'm not here because I want you to be sorry for me, Deaton. I am who I am, and I'm fine with that. Better a mistrustful, jagged Omega than a coward of an Alpha”. Derek squares his shoulders, playing his last card.

“But, contrary to your first idea, I'm not here to ask you to get him out of his catatonia”. That's why Jen's here for, after all. “I'm here because Hunters and a few wolves have attacked Peter in the last three years, and I need wolfsbane to put a barrier before his room”.

It's a lie, and not extremely well-crafted on the top of it, but Derek's certain now that Deaton won't help if he tells the truth. It's the only option he has left. If the Emissary refuses, he'll have to come back later, steal what he needs and face the consequencies.

Luckily for him, Deaton seem to be taken aback enough that he's actually thinking about it and not outright refusing. The vet frowns, like he's trying to find the catch, and Derek pushes one last time. “You don't have to get involved. And it's not about waking him up. I just want enough wolfsbane to protect him”.

He tilts his head. “I know you don't like Peter”, Derek acknowledges. “But surely, he doesn't deserve to be put down like a dog while he's utterly defenseless?”.

Deaton looks at him, hard, and Derek stands his ground in silence, eyeing the Emissary back just as unflinchingly. Finally, the vet gives a dry, quick nod. “Very well. I suppose I can at least do that”. Derek carefully helds back any manifestation of his overwhelming relief and inclines his head. “Thank you”, he says simply, and Deaton shakes his head.

“Don't thank me”, he retorts as he turns around and disappears in an small, adjacent room. He comes back with a little glass tube filled with black powder and puts it on the desk almost like one would throw a gauntelet down. “Because if I see one mysterious death, one unexplained disparition...”.

Deaton's voice go low with the threat as he ends. “I'll know who to find. And I don't appreciate being played”. Derek nods tensely in acknowledgement of the warning, but he still takes the vial without hesitation. Hearing it said out loud doesn't change anything: it was always Peter and him against everyone else, anyway – this is just one more threat among many others. It won't make Derek flinch.

Nothing will, not anymore.

***

Derek parks behind Peter's house and listens to the forest around him for a long minute before he allows himself to slump in his seat. He closes his eyes and starts to laugh quietly, fingers curled tightly on the glass of the vial.

He got it. He fucking _got it_. 

The last piece, the last, final part of the plan, and he has his hands on it. Fucking finally. His thoughts derive towards Peter, as they always do when he lets them; but this time, he only feels joy and a fierce sense of happiness rather than nostalgia and hurt.

_Soon, I promise. So very soon, love. And you'll be whole._

He basks in the feeling of success for a minute more: he almost forgot in the last years, how good it feels to know you can attain your goal. The basic idea was foolish, some half-baked plan inspired by Peter's all these years ago, and barely standing on his own – the perfect recipe for disater.

It took three long years of reading, planning and researching to refine it enough to be playable. Playable because it is still a play in the end; a power play, and a dangerous one. One that can still fall, even now. But he's close, so close. He's never been so close.

Derek pictures Peter's healed face for a second, and then chases the daydream away with a decisive shake of his head. It can happen – he will make it happen – but now's not the moment to lose his cool. There's still work to be done.

He grabs his cell and starts typing.

***

Derek ducks on the side, resisting the vicious urge to elbow David in the face and out of the way – three years didn't soften any of his contempt for his brother. But it's not like he needs the violence: he's the better athlete. Always has been. He blocks David's grab with his shoulder and disengages, the basket ball almost glued to his hand. He started the sport two years ago – natation was out of question, and he needed a discipline in which he could get excellent grades.

By definition, all werewolves are good athletes – David being the exception, and certainly not the rule. Well...more or less. In fact, the other wolf isn't that bad, as long as he's mesuring up against humans - understandable. Against other wolves...he's not that good. And Derek proves it in the next second, losing his brother easily. He'd like to simply score without bothering on niceties, but the hoop is too far, human-wise. By virtue of blending in, he has to zig and zag his way into the fray.

Quite the fray, in fact, since half of the adverse team seems to be closing on him. He quickly scans the field – both Brian and Arthur, the only ones who, according to Derek, play in a tolerable manner, are closely marked.

He curses in a half-tone. For all the final score doesn't really matter to him, he happens to nurse a serious competitive edge nonetheless, and losing is never appealing anyway. And besides, it feels good to run and sweat and let go, just a little.

He doesn't have much time these days to go on runs in the forest, and he has no sparring partner. Basket-ball is both a way to work out and the assurance of easily obtained good grades – which he needs to balance his drops in other classes.

And, well...it may also be a weird way to feel close to Peter, just a bit. His lover was captain of the basket-ball team when he was in high school, and playing in his tracks, so to speak, makes Derek feel good even on bad days. It's probably stupid, but he takes comfort where he can. Even if things are better of late, the confrontation with Deaton four days ago left him a bit frazzled. Not to mention his meeting with Alexander, who was, as usual, delicate to handle. Derek clicks his tongue. Not now.

So. The match. Conscious that keeping the ball longer will look suspicious, he takes the risk. Catching Brian's eye, he tilts his head towards the hoop, and the other boy nods. Derek whirls round, jumping back to break the ringer as much as he can, and sends the ball flying...

...right into substitute Matheson's hands. Nobody is more shocked by it than the boy himself, and he rises a disbelieving stare at Derek. He looks faintly terrified, which is understandable since about every member of the opposite team is staring at him like he's some kind of sacrificial sheep.

Derek winks at him in answer, and that's when Brian springs from nowhere, grabing the ball and doging any attempts at blockade with an a facility that forces respect. Derek grins – he gotta hand it to Brian, the guy is _good_. In fact, he's the best on the team, technically speaking. Became Captain six months ago. Derek may be quicker and a lot more endurant, when push comes to shove, the other teen is a better player than him – which he has no problem with. 

Brian has a scholarship resting upon his basket-ball results - a good idea if you know the level of his grades in general. He actually missed his last year (which allowed Derek to catch up with him on the next) and so trains more than anyone to get to college – he always had, even when when they had been on the swim team. The difference is, at the time, they'd trained together, while now he does it on his own.

Their friendship never really rekindled. Some people cannot accept the supernatural and what comes with it. Brian choose to turn away three years ago, and he never seemed to regret it – for all he told Derek to pass his best wishes to Peter, he didn't really reach out.

Doesn't mean Derek didn't keep an appreciation for his old friend. He smiles with amusement as the ball flies through the hoop, barely touching the net, and at the subconsequent pile of players jumping on Brian in celebration as the last whistle resonates. With a derisive shake of head, he leaves the field toward the lockers. While they all are outside, he can take a shower in peace – a necessity, because he doubts the healing scar on his abdomen would have gone unnoticed.

He can't help his slight hiss when the warm water hits the wound. _Alexander and his bad moods..._ The Gifted is becoming more and more unstable these days, to the point that Derek is starting to believe that Logan did something to him.

Some kind of Alpha-related bind, that could explain the man's frayed equilibrum. Most of the time, the older wolf is mostly calm, even if hatred always lurks behind his eyes. But sometimes...sometimes, the coldness shatters and he justs...blows up. And since Derek is the only one who has contact with him, he's the one who takes the burnt of it. He always gives as good as he gets, of course. He has a feeling he would be dead if he didn't show his strength each time Alexander attacks him – or rather, tests him.

But his already thin control over the Gifted is becoming frailer by day. He cannot wait to long before executing his plan, or _he'll_ end up being the one Alexander will try to kill. If the other wolf decide to use his Gift against him...Well. It won't be pretty.

Derek hears the team's arrival – it would be difficult not to, with the way they're chanting and laughing. And to think, they're not even drunk yet...He slips out of the shower, quickly drying himself and putting his clothes on. He's gathering his bag when the players get in, and he receives pats on the back and quite a few _“Great pass, man!”_ as they slip by him. He grins in answer, declines the invitation to a few drinks with the excuse that he's beat, and goes on his way.

Brian nods to him as he passes, and Derek nods back pleasantly, but no word is exchanged, not that he expected it. They're more acquintaces than anything else, now, and Derek made his pace with it long ago. Even if it _would_ have been nice to have another support than a psychopathic nurse who mostly tolerates him only because she sees him like a bodyguard, some kind of perfectly expendable shield for Peter.

Not that Derek really blames her – after all, he does the same, or about. They both use each other without hesitation in order to protect Peter, and they both accept it. Jen needs him to kill, and he needs her to makes sure nobody asks too much questions – and to be warned if they do.

They make it work for the moment, and it's all that matters. When Peter wakes...well, when he truly wakes, not this unresponsive state he's been in for half a year – the status quo will be broken, and Derek isn't sure how he'll handle an homicidal nurse. But that's for later. For now, he still needs her – in fact, he will need her more than ever soon. Til then, she was here to keep day-watch and make sure nobody questionned the weird laps and bounds in Peter's health.

Because his lover's burns had healed quicker than normal, even in his weakened state, which had been the reason Jennifer had started to really get interested in him. Derek pushes the tangent thought away to concentrate again.

Point is, he won't have a choice – he'll need to count on Jen to make sure Peter wakes up properly. Hopefully, the planned double dose of adrenalin will be enough. Brutal, without a doubt, and painful, but his lover has to be conscious, or all Derek's efforts will have been in vain.

The ring of his phone cuts through his somber thoughts, and Derek's shoulders relax the second he see the caller's ID. This is...not an ally, but, at the very last, a true friend. He unlocks the Aston and slips in the car.

A real smile is audible in his voice as he picks up and greets,

“Hey, Ethan!”.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Chapter 3 was rather long in coming, but it's here at last, betaed by El!  
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Derek has been sitting in the car for a quarter of hour when his phone finally chimes with a text. _Ok_ , it simply reads, no that Derek needs any more incentive. He vanishes and reappears in Peter's room with barely a thought.

It's easy, so easy. The extend of his teleportation, the number of times he can move over and what distance he can cover – it all grew exponentially over the last three years. Since the night of the fire, in fact. It's like in when he had pushed his Gift so hard, he had unlocked everything.

Derek cannot remember the last time he had a fit – the worst had been bone-deep tiredness in the first year, when he still simply teleported the Hunters with him, alive and kicking, and even then, it never was bad to the point of being handicapping.

Annoying, yes. Frustrating, absolutely. But in these years, he never blacked out or crumpled with fever and nausea again. Peter will probably be delighted at the progress.

Derek materializes in the darkest corner of the room, where Jen is careful to let the curtain always partially drawn, blocking the moonlight so the spot is full of shadows, and Derek can hide if necessary in case of sudden arrival of Hunters or nurses.

Not that much nurses pass by, especially now that Peter's state is stable and unchanging. Sometimes, Derek thinks that some of the staff will faint from the shock the day his lover will get out of his catatonia.

But at the moment, at least, the nurses' disinterest work for them – it's a lot easier to keep the attacks and subsequent disappearances under the radar when nobody is actively paying attention, after all. Plus, everybody more or less considers Peter as Jen's personal patient by now.

Again, useful.

Stepping out of the shadows, he quickly glances around to make sure everything's as it should be. Jen by the door as usual, Peter lying on the bed, eerily still – usual as well, sadly – and nobody else. Good. “No change?”, he asks, mostly out of habit.

Because there's never any change these days. Well. It's not true, not exactly, since his lover is, in fact, healing. But it's so slow that it would probably take another three years him to get naturally out of his trance-like state.

As it is, Peter's wounds don't seem to have improved in the past years – the most of the burns is now healed, internally at last. Externally, Peter is covered in scars, practically from head to toe, and none of it seem keen to fade.

Which is rather good, since the contrary would make Peter some kind of medical miracle, and they really don't need the spotlight at the moment. When the plan will be done – and Peter fully healed, things will get more tricky to conceal.

But that's for later – a bridge to cross once they'll be here. And considering that, if they do get here, it means that Peter will finally be whole...well. There's worst possibilities. Derek doesn't doubt that between the two of them, they'll manage. They always did. 

“No change”, Jen answers, just as expected. Derek nods, even there's always a tiny part of him that hopes against all odds. Jen nods back curtly – they're both perfectly aware that the other is a barely-ally, and therefore don't bother with niceties. 

As she slips out, Derek grabs the chair and sits besides the bed. He lets his bag fall on the ground, unopened. He doesn't feel like trying to do his homework. Not tonight – not when he has so much to tell to Peter.

It's somewhat of a recent habit. At first, he had just stayed at Peter's side in painful silence. He couldn't stay away, but speaking to no-one had seemed wrong, his voice echoing in the room, hesitant and too loud, stumbling over talking points.

And then, one day, head throbbing with the mother of all headaches – from a Hunter's blow an hour earlier as well as his desperate tries for piece his plan together, he had just...started to talk. He told of his efforts, of the problems he met.

And it had helped. So much.

Even through Peter didn't react in anyway to Derek's voice, simply saying it out loud had been a relief, and a very good way to think around the blocks and outside the box. In a way, his plan is now functional because of Peter – and considering the guy is catatonic, Derek supposes it makes a perfect example of unhealthy dependency.

Maybe the school counselor is actually on something, if in a roundabout way. Not that Derek cares: he was perfectly serious when he said to Deaton that he was at ease with who he had become. He turned into a killer because Peter needed him to – and he has no apologies about it.

Letting his senses trail around at full alert, making sure nobody is around – Jen or others - Derek lounges back on his chair in a comfortable position and starts on his nightly recount of the last hours.

“So, I actually texted Alexander this morning, and if he can lure Logan out, I think we could maybe do this for the next full moon – because I read in one of your books about that, and I hope the pull of the moon could help wake you up ....”

***

“ Now, pair up, please. I want you to create a short debate about the Valladolid controversy. You have ten minutes”. The groan at that is largely collective, but Mr Westover simply rises an amused eyebrow. “Don't worry. If, as I told you, you read about the subject, it'll be easy enough”.

The number of withering glares he receives in answer only seems to amuse him even more. Derek sighs – History, along with Sports and Litterature, is one of the lessons that keeps his grades up, so he can't ditch it. But Christ, he sure wants to.

He didn't read about the Valladolid controversy, but he knows the gist of it: had the Spanish explorers the right to colonize and destroy the aboriginals' way of life under the pretense of salvation and teaching of better, civilized ways?

He snorts – the question sounds familiar. Destroy what is different and fear what you don't understand - hello 14th century, this is your buddy from 19th and beyond. You say potato, I say... “What's so funny?”.

Derek gets out of his daydream to arch an incredulous eyebrow at Brian. “Are you sure you didn't get the wrong desk?”, he asks acidly. “I wasn't aware we were on speaking terms”. Brian shrugs, but the nonchalance does little to hide his hesitation.

“The others are already in group”, the young man finally says. The tone is very matter-of-fact, and he looks at Derek with a frank, calm expression, waiting for an answer. It's Derek's turn to shrug. “Seem we don't have much of a choice, then. Take a seat”.

Brian grabs the nearest chair and sits down. The rest of the lesson passes like blur – after an initial moment of awkwardness and tension, they fall back into familiarity with almost starling facility. Apparently, six years of friendship can endure through much.

For two hours, Derek is able to push back thoughts of Peter and Gifts, threats and plans. The conversation is light, snarky and amusing. They stay well away from touchy subjects, like werewolves, and speak of stupid gossip instead.

He'd almost forgotten how good that feels.

***

As the bell rings, Derek swiftly gets out of the classroom. He's rounding the corner of the corridor, idly wondering if he has the time for a quick call to Jen, when the smell hits his nose, and he knows who is behind him long before Brian speaks. “Derek, wait!”

For a second, he thinks about losing himself in the stream of students in the hall, before mentally shrugging. He faced bloodthirsty Hunters, he can handle Brian and whatever he has to say. He turns around just as his... - friend? He's not even sure - catches up.

Upon seeing that Derek isn't trying to flee, the other teen slows down. The awkwardness from earlier seems to grow back with each step Brian takes, and by the time he has reached Derek, the air has grow dangerously thick with tension.

They look at each other in silence, gauging the way they have both changed, and Derek notices the exact moment when Brian sees under his facade to the steel-hard resolve beneath. He always was perceptive. 

That, and the fact that except for Peter, Brian is the person who knows Derek the most – even better than any of the Hale Pack. “What happened?”. The words are low, a bit shocked, but Brian, for all his apprehension, doesn't fidget or avert his eyes.

Derek does the same thing he always do when people catch on him. He shrugs. “Peter”, he consents to develop when the other man stares insistently. “Life in general. Loss”. An humorless smile tug at his lips when he adds, “Trust me, you don't want to know more”.

The words make Brian's lips thin, and he rises his chin, defiance radiating in his whole stance. “And what if I do?”. The retort is brimming with anger, and too late, Derek remembers that his old friend hates anything resembling an order.

He can't help a slight smile, even as he privately thinks about the way Brian had turned his back on supernatural – on him. He stares back, cold amusement dancing in his eyes. “You definitely don't”. Derek tilts his head to the side. “That it, unless you want to hear about werewolves, blood and death?”.

And here it comes. A tiny, aborted flinch – not much, but here. Enough that Derek knows, without a doubt, that no matter how much he may will otherwise, Brian will always be part of these humans who know but chose to keep away.

And in the end, it's probably the wisest choice.

Brian opens his mouth, but Derek beats him to it. “Face it, Brian. You don't want to know. You never did, not really. You wanted the truth, but once you got it...you never asked. You could have, and I would have answered. But you didn't”. 

Derek sees Brian's jaws tense, his shoulders square...He shakes his head, forestalling the imminent explosion that is sure to follow what Brian took as a jab at his courage. “It doesn't make you a coward”. Derek suddenly grins. “In fact, it probably make you smarter than many others”. 

The rage still lights up in Brian's eyes, high and clear, and for a second Derek is certain he's is going to end up with a fist in the face. But the wild glow slowly dies instead, and his oldest friend sighs. “Can you blame me? I saw how much blood there was in that pool”.

He steps forward, searching Derek's face. “I saw you...transform, and you looked like...”. Brian shakes his head. “I don't even know. I don't have a good comparison in mind. But the point is, you almost died that day. You were drowning, after having bleed so much the water had turned red”.

Brian swallows. “And then, the fire. I'm not an idiot – I know it was an arson, and I know who did it. We both do”. Derek acknowledges the point with a short nod. “And that's the problem. If there's people ruthless and crazy enough to take on...your...species...”.

He stops momentarily, before he ends, “...how much it would take for them to hit me? To make somebody inconvenient disappear? I don't want to find my family burned to death one day because I snooped around and knew too much”.

The hesitance and shame vanish, and Brian stares Derek down, expression fierce. “You knew it was dangerous. That's why you never told me in the first place”. He says it like he's daring Derek to say no, and when he stays silent, Brian nods like a point's been made.

“Well. I won't put my family in danger. I won't put everybody I love under risk of death to satisfy my curiosity or my need for adrenalin. I lived very well before I knew – I can live with it. I know that it makes me...maybe not a coward, but something close”.

Brian shrugs, eyes hard. “But I don't care”, he concludes. He looks back at Derek, and something soften on his face. “Your my oldest friend, Derek”. He steps forwards to grab Derek's shoulder. 

“I even had a crush on you in first year. Never found the courage to ask you out”, he adds ruefully, before turning serious again. “ I just wanted to say...I'm sorry”, he murmurs earnestly. “I just...I won't take the risk”.

Derek can't help the painful pang in his chest, even through he knew it was coming. He knew, with utmost certainty, that Brian wouldn't help – and he understands why. God, of course he does. How could he not, when he killed more Hunters than he cares to count in order to protect Peter?

And besides, if it ever came down to Brian or Peter, he would chose his lover, over and over, no matter the cost to his old friend, so maybe it's best if the teen stays far away. Not to mention that Brian would be a liability: frail, human, and, more importantly, judgmental.

An weakness and a risk all in one – something Derek can't afford.

“I got it” he admits with a short nod.” As I said, it's the smartest thing to do”. _For the both of us_ , he ends inwardly as he extends a hand. “No hard feelings, then?”. Brian looks at Derek's hand for a second, like he's not sure whether to shake it or not.

Unsure if he wants to truly seal this end of friendship. Because it's what it is, in the end – they'll stay acquaintances, see each other again, of course. They share the same school and the same sport team, so it would be difficult not to. But deep down, the six years old bond will break.

Derek can't stay friend with someone who let him down. Understanding does not mean he can't resent Brian's choice at the same time. It had hurt, when he had understood, after dozen of unanswered texts, that he had lost he last anchor in the crazy storm his life had become.

It had stung, hard and deep; left him alone when he needed someone. Especially in this first year, when he had been wary of everything and everyone, from the Hales to the Hunters and passing by Jen. 

He owes Brian for this day in the pool; and he's aware that's a debt if there's ever been one. But in the end, the abandon left him too hurt to forgive and take the risk to explain – when he walked away, Brian proved he couldn't accept the supernatural.

Somehow, Derek doesn't think the new of his relationship with Peter would go over much better. So he simply waits Brian out, certain his old friend will take his extended hand – he said it himself, he won't take the risk.

And Brian, in the end, does reaches out to shake his hand firmly. “No hard feelings”, he says, and Derek knows it's a lie on both sides.

But these days, what's one more?

***

The text comes in at 4 PM sharp, short and to the point. _Need to talk. Usual place?_ Derek doesn't hesitate. _Yes_ , he sends back. _See you in one hour_ .

And then he raises his hand. “Sir? I'm sorry, but I don't feel very well...”

***

Derek slips between the trees, steps careful and silent, scanning the forest around him as he walks swiftly towards his destination. He would have loved to just teleport over, but he'd rather not show Alexander more than he needs to know.

The other wolf already knows Derek's Gifted – a necessary revelation to obtain his attention as well as a measure of trust at their first meeting – and that's more than enough. In fact, Derek suspects than Alexander's ignorance is what's keeping in mostly in line.

Because the other Gifted doesn't know what he can do, he stays wary – testing and prodding at Derek instead of truly attacking. And the situation, even precarious, is manageable as it is. Derek doesn't need their fragile equilibrium broken.

Now less than ever, in fact.

But luckily, with a date set on the day they will get to Logan, Alexander will redirect his more savage tendencies towards his Alpha and stop snapping at Derek – verbally or otherwise. Or you can always hope so, he concludes with a mirthless smile.

He takes one last turn, jumps over the arch of a big branch and steps into the clearing. It hasn't changed in any way in three years: full of shadow, with only a few spots of sun here and there, grass and moss and leaves covering the ground like a carpet.

And in the center of it, mysteriously evading growing lichen and weeds, still as white as the first time Derek saw it...the triskellion traced on the ground, not a stone out of place, defying time and hatred. Left untouched, because nobody knows it's here.

He walks forward, closing his eyes briefly, eyelids fluttering shut on memories of Peter's pain and compassion. Of the first time he had truly grasped the meaning of the word “cruelty”, and a few minutes later, of “cowardice”.

He walks until he's at the edge of the outer circle of white stones, and he gets down to a knee to brush the tomb gently. _I'm still here. Still remembering_ . He had wowed to himself he wouldn't forget the first time he came here, and this promise, he'd held.

 _You will always be remembered_ . 

With one last stroke, he rises and turns around. “Alexander”, he greets calmly. He bows his head in salute without ever taking his eyes of the other wolf's, yellow pupils glowing in the shadow of a tree.

Alexander slowly steps out of his observation post to incline his head in turn. “Derek”, he welcomes. He sounds cool enough for the moment, but it doesn't mean much – seeing Derek pay his respects on the tomb always seems to calm him somehow. At first.

He hasn't changed either, since this day at the hospital, when this Gifted stranger had bent down over Derek's paralyzed form. Thirty-something, with shoulder-long black hair and deep, warm brown eyes that still manage to look ice-cold.

An exterior of frightening coldness for a man who is internally seething with so much hatred that Derek think it should be permeating the very air around him. But the other Gifted is always maintaining his perfectly impassive facade.

Well. Until it shatters, that's it. Derek seems to have an uncanny talent for that.

He gives himself a solid mental shake: letting his thoughts wander while being in Alexander's presence is a dangerous idea. In fact, the less he lingers here, the better his chances to not get jumped at. Again.

“I got the last things I needed in order”, he says calmly. As announcements go, it's rather vague, but Derek has always kept the information-sharing to a strict minimum, and he intends to continue that way. “I'm ready when you are”.

Alexander's facade cracks, then, a short, defiant laugh tearing from his throat. He shows his teeth, hatred twisting his handsome face in something crooked and ugly. “Oh, I'm ready”. His pupils seem to shine even brighter, hunger and blood dancing in his gaze.

“I've been waiting for this for a long time, now. Each time he made me held down one of us while he killed; each second of each day, I hated him, hated him for making me submit and breaking me in the bargain”. The Gifted swallows convulsively, raggedly.

“And I hated myself, too, for not finding the will to turn my Gift against my own brother and end him, even when I saw what he did”. Alexander slowly walks forwards, movements smooth and full of dangerous grace. For all his madness, he looks terrifyingly cool headed.

“I betrayed everything I was, for years. And for years, I clung to my rage. I swore I would make him pay someday”. The older wolf tilts his head, looking appraisingly at Derek, and for the first time in two years, the scrutiny make the young man nervous.

Alexander seems...utterly focused, all of a sudden, eyes keen and knowing. Dangerously knowing. Derek's lips thin. He sincerely thought Alexander was half-mad, but...Alarm claws at his stomach. How clever is the other Gifted, in the end?

How dangerous?

“I know you don't care about Logan – not truly. You may not like him, but you don't hate him, not as I do. And yet you want him dead”. Alexander laughs out loud at Derek's livid expression, and shakes his head.

“Keep your secrets, Derek. I don't need them, nor I care for them”. A long finger slips under Derek's chin, making him tilt his head up, and Alexander's gaze drills into his, hard and inescapable, bottomless madness and starling lucidity tangled together.

“I”, Alexander whispers, voice low but underlined with steel, “want him dead. I don't care about anything else – you can set out to burn the world to ashes, and I wouldn't lift a finger to stop you as long as I'm certain Logan burns in it as well”.

Alexander smiles, thin and whipcord-like. “This kind of unyielding determination, I believe, is something we have in common”.

Derek thinks on blood and rage, of dead bodies and crudely-made tombs. He thinks of Peter, and remembers the feeling of warm lips against his throat and the way his fingers had tangled almost forcefully into soft hair.

And at last, he remembers the horrible, gut-wrenching pain at the sight of the mass of scars twisting on Peter's unmoving body like a sick kind of puzzle.

 _I'll protect you, always. I'll make you whole, no matter what_ . He'd wowed. He had killed and fought and lied for it, without any remorse. Slowly, Derek reports his attention on Alexander. He smiles, too, harsh and cold and feral.

“Yes”. He inclines his head. “It seems we do, indeed”.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I apologize for the long update time, but finally, this is chapter 4! El has only skimmed the chap, so any mistakes here are mine.
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Derek closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the cold glass of the mirror. He'd like to say he's just waiting for Jen, but the truth is, he's closed-in in Peter's hospital bathroom because he's desperately trying to calm his growing nerves.

And sadly, the full moon is only to blame for about ten percent of them. The rest is Derek freaking out and suddenly finding a steadily increasing number of flaws in a plan he repeated hundred times over.

He knows his plan is sound. Dangerous, certainly, but good, in a crazy way – and it's well-prepared. To use a chess metaphor, all the pieces are on the board exactly where he needs them. Of course, he cannot predict all the variables – like Logan.

And that's all it takes to send Derek in a quiet panic again. Logan. Logan who could escape, or who could manage to kill Alexander before the Gifted can act. Kill Derek even or force him to flee, and make the whole thing crash down.

Derek's hand goes to the back pocket of his jeans, felling the reassuring shape of the two syringes under the denim. He takes a steadying breath and open his eyes again, meeting his own wide, overbright pupils in the mirror.

_This is going to work. You've been preparing for this for three years now. It'll work_. The repeated mantra calms him enough that he decides to get back in the room to greet Jen when she arrives. He can't afford to show weakness – not to her, nor to Alexander.

Not to anyone.

He must be strong enough for this – Peter needs him, and Derek will fucking make it work, he swears it. Even if it goes awry beyond repair, he'll find a way. For his lover. And for himself, too. It's too late for retreating.

Alexander has already talked to Logan by now. It's all coming to a head, and if Derek fails now...Well. You don't defy an Alpha without consequences, especially when you're an Omega. He's been living on borrowed time the second Alexander spoke to his Alpha.

Up to him to be adaptable enough to make sure this ends in a victory for him.

***

Derek rematerializes far enough into the woods to make sure that, if he was to fail, Logan couldn't trace his scent back to the hospital. He promised he'd make it work, and he _will_ or he'll die trying, but it doesn't mean he's a fool.

He has always came at night for these three years, and he only used Peter's Aston a handful of times – the car is too noticeable. For any nurse on duty, Derek Hale stopped paying visits to his uncle about six months after the fire.

It's exactly what he needs to remember to make his worry slip away. No matter what happens tonight, Peter is safe. There's no connection between them left for anyone to see, even if they're searching.

The Hales don't know about Derek's nightly visits, and Deaton, as the Pack's Emissary, won't volunteer intel to Logan. Not easily, anyway. And even if, somehow, something went wrong...Jen'll be here.

And his lover will live. Scarred. In pain. Catatonic. But he'll live, and he'll get to wake up one day, if a lot slower that Derek intended – and under the care of a psychotic nurse. Not ideal. But still, it's how it must be. Derek will be the only one to risk his neck.

And if he gets himself killed, at least he'll do so knowing that Peter will survive and be fiercely protected. 

Derek rises his chin, eyes flaring cold neon blue for a second, and steps in the shadows of the trees.

***

The first scent he notices is Alexander's.

Well and so, he expected no less. Logan isn't stupid by any means – no way he'd just stand here waiting for a enemy he knows nothing of except for an acknowledged tendency to use blackmail. It makes sense to send his Gifted Second forward.

Derek stops at the tree's limit, keeping most of his face in the shadows; the only visible clue to his presence is the dark outline of his body, half-drowned in darkness, and the glowing ice blue of his pupils, a sharp counterpoint to Alexander's fire yellow irises.

The other Gifted's eyes narrow slightly, a silent, invisible assurance that Logan is indeed here, even through Derek can't manage to catch the Alpha's scent – the forest is windy tonight, more than he's comfortable with.

It'd be too easy to sneak on him, and Derek steps in the clearing quickly if calmly. Better to be on open ground now – at least, he'll see Logan arrive on him if the Alpha decide to attack. Not that Derek has any illusions about his chances of survival if that happens.

He has trained for this, yes, but Logan has been Alpha of the Callen Pack for almost a decade, now. He could probably beat the shit out of Derek with his hands tied behind his back – in a one-to-one, it's nothing short of suicide, and a painful one to boot.

Which is why he needed – why he needs – Alexander's help so desperately.

Logan isn't a fool, no; but his trusts his Gifted brother. Trust him enough that he believes, sincerely, that the other Gifted is loyal to him – that being spared keeps Alexander at his side out of gratitude and familial ties.

And it could have worked, truly. If Logan hadn't used his little brother to chase down Gifted wolves, if he hadn't pushed Alexander to murdering his own...The attachment to family is one hell of a thread to cut off, nobody knows it better than Derek.

And so is the Pack bond. If it hadn't been for his Gift, would he have ever found the courage to walk away? He's not sure – in fact he doubts it. If Logan had kept his brother by him instead of making him his personal weapon of genocide...Who knows, really?

But as it is, any love Alexander could have has turned to hatred a long time ago – a perfect, unique opportunity to use the sole fault-line in Logan's powerful Pack and status. Derek's only chance. He rises his eyes to meet Alexander's.

“I'm here to meet Logan”, he says in a even tone. Alexander's lips stretch in a cold smile. “You will”. The smile grows, turns almost malevolent, and all of a sudden Derek's limbs lock on themselves and he falls harshly on his knees.

It part of the plan, of course, to lure Logan in the open, but the move has been so brutal that Derek's surprise is genuine – and with it a tiny flash of doubt. Surely, Alexander won't betray him, not now? A quick glance to the elder's man face reassure him.

The triumphant, savage gleam in the Gifted eyes as Logan steps in under the moonlight isn't directed towards Derek. It's his own Alpha that Alexander is tracking with these eyes turned almost feverish from hatred and bloodlust.

If he could, Derek would kick him in the shin. He can understand the rage and the need for violence, but they won't go far if Alexander keeps looking at his brother with an expression that telegraph perfectly how much he'd enjoy tearing the Alpha throat out.

But for all the hatred boiling in him, Alexander has always been frighteningly cold; able to keep his ice-like facade for years and years, deceiving an Alpha for a decade. Without any prompting from Derek necessary, his face clears, leaving only impassivity behind.

Logan steps in the clearing, and his grin is nothing short of arrogant. But again, considering that Derek is on his knees, helpless and paralyzed, he supposes the Alpha is entitled. _Just wait_ , he tells himself. _Keep calm and wait for an opening_.

Logan appraises Derek openly, a lengthy, surprisingly appreciative glance. “James' son”. He raises an amused eyebrow. “Well, this is a surprise, I'll admit. You're the last person I expected”. Derek feels curiosity prickle along his back.

“Who were you expecting, then?”. He asks carefully, mindful of sounding mostly bored instead of interested – even through he is. Who else could be out there blackmailing the Callen Alpha? It's...a horrible presentiment slowly starts to gnaw at Derek's stomach. Surely not...

“You father, actually. We have a...disagreement”, Logan answers almost cheerfully, and Derek inwardly curses. Damn, if this whole situation goes back to the Hales...Killing Logan and Alexander could make of the BC Pack a living target. 

It's one thing for an lone Omega to kill an Alpha – in fact, it's mostly considered as the proof that the Alpha in question had become weak and unworthy of the honor of leading. It doesn't have much consequences: the next in line, the Second or the strongest after him, takes over.

But a Pack ganging on another Alpha without provocation? It's bad – it's just something you don't do unless you actively want to announce that your Pack is rogue, lawless and dangerous. Makes you the one to take down without failure.

If Derek kills Logan and Alexander while everybody knows that the Callen were in conflict with the Hales...it'll fall on his family's back. Suspicion and mistrust at best, trial or hunt at worst. His lips thin, and he swallows through a suddenly dry throat.

If he does this...If he kills Logan and Alexander...he betrays his family to a terrible fate. A Pack survives and thrives on alliances. A lone Pack is a Pack whose power is negligible – add to that a Pack who lost the community's respect...

It'll will condemn them all to miserable life, trying to prove their worth and their innocence. Which will never work since the guilty party – Derek – will have fled far away with Peter. Laura, Ethan, Marie...they'll live forever with the brand of 'traitors' on their name.

And that's without even counting in the Hunters. They'll come – hell, they'll come running, even, if they hear of the possible danger of a rogue Pack. They'll be ready to hunt and kill, mercilessly.

And Derek should throw his own family in the middle of this? Can he do that to Laura? Gods, to _Ethan_ of all people? Betray people is one thing; and hasn't forgiven, nor forgotten for his own rejection. But it is enough to justify this?

Is even _Peter_ enough to justify this? There's love, and what strength and determination it can give – and Derek _is_ in love, utterly. There's no denying that. But is his love worth such a sacrifice? Losing his Pack, cutting the thread...it's one thing.

But throwing them all on the side, choosing to stop caring about anything else than Peter, and become like Jen, a true sociopath? It's not Derek. It never was; he can kill to protect without any remorse, but he's not ruthless, not like that.

He can't. He just can't do it.

He grits his teeth and feels shame squeeze his throat. _You're a coward_ , a voice murmurs in his head, sounding horribly close to Peter's. _An oath-breaker, useless coward_. Derek clamps his eyes shut on the hot burn of tears.

_I'm sorry. Oh, Peter_. He takes a ragged breath. He can't do it, but he can't _not_ do it either. He can't step down. It a one-time plan, a one-chance possibility to heal his lover. He refuses to let Peter down. How could he? The man paid enough for others' cowardice in his life already.

Betray the Hales or betray Peter. In the end, it all comes to this one, horrible choice.

“Don't even think it!”. It takes Derek a long second to realize that the words have been said out loud and not his head. An invisible bind closes on his throat, jerking his head up to meet Alexander's enraged eyes.

“If you believe I will let you step back...”. The whisper is fierce, kept out of Logan's earshot by the wind. “ _You_ came to me, Derek”. The eyes of the elder wolf are burning, coals of hatred and savagery finally unveiled, and the unseen rope squeezes tighter.

“You came, said you could give me vengeance in exchange of my help. And you will help me have it or I swear I'll kill you where you stand!”. The last of the words have gotten louder enough that Logan steps forwards.

“Alex?”. Derek cannot see Logan, not with the way Alexander is bent down over him, but he can hear the curiosity in the Alpha's voice. No tension, not any mistrust in front of the aside words. Just a hint of surprise.

“Did he say something?”, Logan asks, but Alexander doesn't answer, just keep staring at Derek, waiting for a reaction to either release him or snap his neck. And Derek does react after a long minute, nods slowly, eyes somber.

In the end, it's to late, far to late to back down. And he doesn't want to – why should he? He may not hate the Hales, but with the exception of Ethan, he doesn't care much either. Derek is alone in this, always has been, so why be sorry for collateral damage?

He remembers Peter explaining how he killed the Lauren Pack, killed the humans, because he was ready to use anybody to save his family; remembers telling Laura that he truly believed that you have the right to kill to protect someone you love.

He meant it then, and he means it now.

_“Don't you have people you would kill for? Persons you love enough to do about anything for them, no matter the cost?”_. He'd asked Deaton, used the question as a winning point in their debate. He hadn't expected any answer. Not from Deaton, and not from himself, either.

But now he asks, even through deep down he knows his answer already – what would he do for Peter? And the answer, the one he shied away from in the last three years, is that when it comes to it, he would do _anything_.

It's unreasonable. Hell, it's crazy, probably confining to madness; or at the very least to a terrible danger, to be ready to help someone beyond any limits – maybe, in the end, it makes him no better than Jen: a true sociopath, fixated on Peter to the point of obsession.

Maybe. Probably. Maybe Peter will be disgusted with him when he'll wake up, and will push Derek and Jen away all the same – uninterested by a Derek who has changed to the point of being able to sacrifice his own blood like they're mere pawns.

But he'll be whole, healed and free and able to evade threats – Derek is ready to kill or die for Peter, his sole presence in front of Logan is proof of that. He can live with Peter leaving, too. As he told Laura this night by the river: _at least he'll be alive enough to be disgusted with me_.

So he looks back on Alexander, and nods, feeling determination settle in his bones, heavy yet curiously freeing. He just took a step that makes him the worse kind of murderer and betrayer, but at the same time, it gave him the final push needed.

No turning back: he'll get what he wants tonight. Logan's power will be his to do what he wants with.

The depth of his determination must show on his face, because Alexander doesn't ask anything more – the bind just disappears, at first at his throat, and then all around his body. It's slower than the earlier paralyzing, and it allows Derek to keep utterly still.

Logan steps even closer, and this time there's a hint of tension filtering through as he asks, “Alex?”. Alexander throws one last glance at Derek, half-warning, half-connivance, before he turns around, bowing his head respectfully.

“Nothing of importance”, is the smooth answer. The elder Gifted shrugs, showing his would-be contempt for his prisoner's words. “That I was a traitor, mislead by your lies, that I should kill you...”.

The Alpha nods like it was what he expected, a malicious smile tilting up the corners of his mouth. “Ah, the usual, then”. He focuses his attention back to Derek after one last shared, sinister grin with his brother.

He looms over Derek for a second before lowering himself down to a knee so they're eye-to-eye. “So, let's be honest with each other”, he starts, throwing the younger wolf an inquisitive glance. “You came here tonight, knowing very well it was madness to defy me”.

Logan's eyes are red, red as blood as he ends. “Why?”. Derek swallows and blinks, trying to not let the strong, inescapable presence of an Alpha so close hypnotize him. His wolf is whining, straining at the chance to find a Pack and a leader anew, but Derek pushes it down ruthlessly.

Now is the time for a very human sense of manipulation and betrayal – the instinct cannot lie or rationalize, and at the moment, he needs to be sensitive about this. He also has to say the truth, but luckily, the truth can also be a pleasure to tell in some circumstances.

“You're an asshole, and a cold-blooded killer. You've killed more Gifted than any other Alpha, and you're proud of it”. Derek eyes narrow and he shows his teeth in a defiant sneer, perfectly aware that Logan's carefully listening to heartbeat for any lie.

“You _disgust_ me”, he spits with as much venom as he can muster. Logan's expression turns thunderous, and then terribly cold. “Very well”, he hisses. “I gave you a chance to explain yourself, but if you prefer a painful death...”

The Alpha smiles creepily. “I suppose there is some kind of poetic symmetry in the fact that we're standing on neutral grounds”. His rises and looks back down on Derek like he's dirt, scorn etched on his handsome features.

“One last wish?”, Logan asks like it's a big, magnanimous demand, and Derek can't resist. “Since you're asking...”. He even throws in a sweet smile. “You can go fuck yourself.”. 

A savage snarl echoes in the clearing, and the next thing Derek knows is the pain exploding on the side of his face, bones breaking with a ominous crack. He somehow manages to fall on his side without breaking the illusion that he's still paralyzed, head throbbing.

The next blow catches him in the ribs, and he feels bone crack again as another flare of pain runs through him. Already two rather serious wounds, and Alpha-made: he won't get back from it so fast – he's pretty sure he's got a cracked skull and fractured ribcage.

He curls on himself as much as he can, teeth gritted, stubbornly swallowing any sound. He won't give Logan the satisfaction of making him cry out. No way in hell. A particularly vicious kick hits his stomach, and he bites his tongue savagely on a whimper.

_Any time in this century, Alexander_. If the Gifted waits any longer, Derek won't be able to fight anything, much less an Alpha. _Come on, Goddammit. I'm getting the shit beaten out of me so you can attack from behind so move!_

Through the haze veiling his vision, Derek manages to discern a dark shape slipping at Logan back, eyes like fire and teeth sharp as knives. He closes his eyes. _Finally_. The indignant, shocked roar of pain and utter surprise that resonates in the clearing makes him open them again.

Alexander has literally run his Alpha through, a hand piercing the lung and coming through the ribcage on the other side – one of the most effective ways to make an opponent utterly helpless while keeping him alive.

From what Derek knows, it's also, and by far, the most painful, and he tastes blood from his split lips as he grins. _In your face, bastard_. He slowly gets up to an elbow, then drags himself on his knees, panting for breath, head swimming.

He blinks, trying to clear the black spots in front of his eyes. Fuck, he never got so much ribs broken at once, and certainly not with his healing struggling so much to catch up on the damage – he tastes blood each time he breathes, proof of severe internal bleeding.

Not to mention the way his thoughts seems to be floundering, slow and terribly confused – he vaguely recognizes the symptoms of a concussion. A bad one. But he can't afford the weakness now. He needs to get to Alexander before he kills Logan off.

Swaying all the way, he finally manages to get up – if being on the verge of passing out from pain and dizziness can be called so. But still, he's standing. The pain notwithstanding, his actual state is eerily similar to his years ago-fits. He knows how to function despite it.

And he uses the knowledge, now, to focus his thoughts and his will. Alexander. He needs to stop Alexander, even momentarily – make sure the Gifted doesn't end his Alpha. Derek licks his bloody lips twice before he manages to get the words out.

“Wait”. The syllables seem clumsy on his tongue, but he still squares his shoulders as much as he can without crumpling in pain. “I want...I want to get my hit in, too”. Derek's foot slips, and he wobbles dangerously, but he regains his equilibrium before falling on his face.

For all his pitiful general state, his eyes are still fierce, iron dancing in their depths. “I think I deserved my turn”. He vaguely gestures to his body to precise what he means, and hears Alexander click his tongue, visibly annoyed.

The Gifted sighs, a short tempered growl catching in his throat – he really must want to slaughter Logan without interruption. But even he cannot deny that after the beating he just received, Derek has his right to revenge – in fact, it may be the only reason Alexander can accept.

And Derek probably look even worse than he feels, because the elder wolf finally gives a disgruntled nod after one last once-over. “Alright then. Go at it”. Derek sends him a thin smile, unable to waste his breath in thanks. Especially unwanted ones.

He limps slowly towards the Alpha, and then stops to swallow, letting his whole posture express doubt. “I...do you think you could...”. He takes a breath, not needing to fake his tension as he ends, “...you know, bind him?”. 

That gets him a true, furious-sounding growl. “Do I look like some kind of on-demand para...?”. “I think”, Derek cuts in harshly, “that he'll gut me if he's not restrained in some manner. So...”. His already raw voice catches in a wheeze at the end of the sentence, and the words die in his throat.

He closes his eyes, jaws locked tightly as his ribs protest at the simple fact of forming words. Gods, he needs to get this warped up _now_. “Please”, he says, because he doesn't have the energy to find arguments at the moment.

Alexander doesn't answer verbally, but Logan suddenly falls on his knees and Derek walks to stand over him. It's like a distorted image in the mirror. Symmetry, indeed, Derek thinks as he kneels, forcing his overtaxed body to pivot slightly on the left.

“And now what?”. Logan spats it wildly, like a dare, eyes flaring red and chin up. Defiant to the very end, but Derek hadn't expected anything different – he's an Alpha, and Alphas are proud if nothing else.

He grabs the first wolfsbane-filled needle in the back pocket of his jeans, staying carefully angled out of Alexander's view. “Now?”. Derek brings his closed fist down like he's about to back-hand Logan in the face, and viciously jabs the syringe in the wolf's unprotected neck.

“Now I _win_ , you son of a bitch”.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for the long wait, but finally, here's chapter 5, and betaed, too!  
> Enjoy!

Logan doesn't have the time to emit the smallest sound before the wolfsbane hits his bloodstream – black, ugly veins crawling up his neck and on the side of his face, eyes rolling back in their sockets.

It was the goal in hitting the carotid, even through the consciousness loss will only last a short while. Derek has at best five minutes to take care of Alexander before Logan's Alpha level of healing kicks in and starts to fight off the poison as best as it can. It won't be enough to purge him, of course, but he'll wake up for sure – by instinct if nothing else.

So the plan now is to kill Alexander off, and since Derek was careful of angling himself to hide the syringe, it should be easy enough to take the Gifted by surprise. Especially while he'll be busy readying himself to kill his own Alpha.

Everything is going fine. Which should have been an alarm bell in itself, because the only time when things go fine in Derek's life is just before it all goes to hell, and this, plan or no, prove to be the perfect example.

Derek is raising when Alexander jumps on him, a forceful, bone-jarring collision that makes him cry out as fall right on his ribs – the elder wolf didn't crash against his side without purpose. Derek's vision goes white with pain, and his instinct comes to the forefront in a rush of momentary panic.

He turns his head blindly to bite savagely at the hand clawing at his shoulder to reach his neck; bones break under his fangs, and Derek mouth fills with blood, but he doesn't let go, biting even harder, while raising a clawed hand to slash without aim.

It's the most crazed, instinct-driven fight he's even had, but it saves his life. Adrenalin and the urge to defend his life guide him – a bone-deep, rooted urge, coming from the wolf even more than from the man he is. He struggles and growls and hacks until finally, shockingly, the weight bearing down on him vanishes. He coughs forcefully, chest-wracking and painful, but rolls on his side and forces himself back to his feet.

Luckily for him, he has so much adrenalin in his system by now that it would probably have killed a human – but for him, it's literally salvation. It allows him to heal better and react faster, even if he's still far from his normal reflexes. Alexander rises from his crouch as well, and Derek understands instantly why the elder wolf let him go earlier: half of his face is a streak of gore, mess of blood and tendons and muscle – one of Derek's slashes hit home. 

Pity he missed the eye.

Still, the blow was enough to make Alexander back off, if only for a moment – and Derek desperately needs the break to recoup. He was about to die earlier, he's sure of it. The other Gifted's claws had been digging through his flesh, terribly close to his neck. A fistful of seconds more...Derek shakes his head to get over the shiver of retrospective terror, and immediately sorely regrets it. His skull seems to explode in needles and fire – too much pain for even the endorphin to drown it out. 

He staggers, narrowly catching his equilibrium back, and sees Alexander jump forward from the corner of his eye. He twists out of the way as quickly as he can, but it's no use – the Gifted is fast, a lot faster than Derek would have ever expected.

He does manages to escape a full-fledged blow, but his opponent still rakes at his thigh, a deep gash that makes him stumble. Alexander doesn't stop his assault, and rather uses Derek's flinch to kick him in the sternum, sending him flying into the nearest tree.

The impact is as ruthless as the blow, and pain flares in Derek's body, all over his back and head. He feels the syringe break in his back pocket, and crashes down on the ground without even finding the strength to catch his fall somehow, face connecting hard with the dry earth. 

He breathes harshly, hot against the moss and lichen and feels the horrible realization hit him. He lost. Even if he gets back up – and he will, because he won't die kneeling like a dog – it's a lost cause. Why did he thought Alexander wasn't a good fighter, he doesn't know.

Maybe because the other is Gifted, like him – Derek saw the Gift before the man. Moron. He should have known better than make such a foolish assumption. Peter is Gifted as well, and it doesn't keep him from being an incredible combatant.

Derek grits his teeth. _Peter_. He will die, probably – if not here, then from his wounds - but he can still get what he came for. Can still get Logan to Peter, even if it's the last thing he does. Slowly, he reaches out in his back pocket, feeling wolfsbane burn against his skin and glass bite in his hand. 

He grabs a fistful of it, past caring about any impact the poison could have on him. He knows he can still use his Gift even with wolfsbane in his system – the night of the fire proved that. All he needs now is to drive Alexander back. Just a minute will suffice.

When the elder wolf catches his shoulder to roll him over brutally, he's ready. As the Gifted starts to say, “So you think I will let you walk away to denounce me...”, Derek presses a shielding hand on his own face and throw the powder at Alexander's.

It's his last foolish bet, and his last chance. If the wolf keeps his hold on him, or think of binding Derek down...But no. Alexander rears back with a roar of surprise. Or of pain, maybe. Derek doesn't wait to find out. He throws all of his will into his teleportation.

He rematerializes at Logan's side, clenches a fist on the Alpha's shirt...

Vanishes again.

***

The second Derek appears in Peter's hospital room, Logan knees him in the stomach and crawls over him. _Of course_ , the rational part of Derek's mind observes. _The five minutes are well passed_.

Even weakened with the wolfsbane, he's too strong for Derek to fight off – and the young wolf is on the verge of passing out already. He barely manages to tug weakly at the Alpha's arms as they close over his neck. “You should have killed me the second I lost consciousness”, Logan hisses right against Derek's face. The grins that creeps on his lips is triumphant. “Because now, I will drag you with me, you little...”.

And that's far as he goes, because a steel drip support hits him right on the side of the face with a crack and a violence that would make Derek grimace if had any energy left for it. He closes his eyes instead – he just hit the very end of his rope. Moving is just impossible - darkness is closing steadily on him, and he revels in its smooth, gentle, pleasant tug, a blessedly pain-free moment...right up until a ringing slap in the face wakes him mercilessly. 

Derek blinks up dazedly at what he finally recognizes as Jen's orange hair after long seconds. The face takes even longer to see clearly – but again, if the nurse stopped to fuzz like this, it would be easier. Derek blinks again, stupidly.

It's visibly Jen's assessment of the situation, too, because she slaps him again, harder. “Move!”, she spits savagely, seemingly without any thought spared for Derek's wounded state. “I cannot help him if you don't tell me what to do!”.

 _Help? Help who?_ For all the urgency in the woman's tone, Derek can't find the strength to share her tension – he's barely keeping himself awake as it is. And he apparently said that out loud, because she grabs him by the collar, eyes fierce. “Help Peter, you stupid fool!”.

 _Peter_. For a long, horrible second, even the name doesn't evoke anything. It's just an empty word, something precious to Jen but irrelevant for Derek, an unknown he doesn't have the will to try and unveil. Instinct is selfish – it's about you before others, and right now, Derek's instinct is high.

His foremost needs at the moment are protection and healing, and his scattered thoughts and half-conscious state reflect that perfectly. Waking up fully seems as hard as it is dangerous for him – a healing trance may be his last chance to survive. So why care about this other person – this Peter won't help, since Derek is visibly meant to help him. So, the point is moot..

With a pained sigh, he turns away from Jen's face; all of that moving around and reeking of anxiety makes Derek's head ache even more.

And he sees...he blinks slowly, attempting to make sense of what exactly he's seeing, so close to his face he's almost getting cross-eyed as he try to determine the shape. It's difficult, because the thing is dangling uselessly from the bed, and it's badly – horribly, really – scarred. But it does look like an arm.

An arm covered of burns scars.

 _Peter_.

The name suddenly make sense. Peter and Gifts, and companionship, and happiness – the warm, hot press of lips on his, bodies pressing close. _Anything you want_ , a gentle murmur, breath mingling with his own. 

Peter and despair and fire and _burns_.

A scent that makes him feel safe and wanted and loved, always.

Derek hesitantly presses his nose to the wrist in front of him. And it's here. Faint, but here, under layers of antiseptic cream and pain and melted flesh. The scent. _Peter's scent_. Derek thoughts finally snap together into focus, and he drags himself up to an elbow.

A bit more. Just maybe half an hour more, and he'll let go – but not now, not yet. He swallows raggedly, light-headed with both pain and fierceness. He did it. It'll work. He rises his eyes to Jen's and gives a dry, if tired nod – an acknowledgment that he's back on business.

“Give him the adrenalin”.

***

Derek had expected Peter to howl his head off in pain upon waking – with his wounds, it had seemed an inevitability. That had lead him to ask Jen to bar the door in order to keep away the nurses who would no doubt come running.

But Peter doesn't cry out. He just rears up in silence and slowly turns his head towards the full moon like he's basking in its light. The terribly calm behavior throws Derek off balance for a second, before he shakes himself out of it and forces himself on his knees.

He can't get up, not right now, but he's far beyond notions of dignity – it has never saved anybody, anyway. He needs to get to Peter, and if he has to crawl on his knees to do it...Well, whatever. It's so not the point at the moment. “Peter?”, he calls gently, quietly. He's not even sure Peter is aware of his presence, much less Jen's. Derek carefully take his lover's hand in his, trying to coax a reaction out of him. “Peter”, he calls again when the man doesn't move, eyes still fixated on the moon.

He squeezes a bit harder. “Come on, Peter. I need you to look at me, okay?”. He tugs at the fingers under his palm to add incentive at his demand, to no avail. Fuck. That, he isn't prepared for. He clicks his tongue, unsure of what to do. With Peter's wounds, he doesn't dare to be more forceful, but they need him awake, desperately so. It was the goal of the whole operation, after all. 

Jen visibly doesn't have Derek's scruples, because she walks forwards, drawing another syringe out of her pocket as she goes. Derek feels his hair stand up on his neck. “Wait, hang on!”, he protests.”What's that?”. Jen rolls her eyes, but consents to stop as she answers, “Another shot”. Derek stares at her, disbelieving. “Of adrenalin?”, he finally hisses. “No! Are you mad? He just got two less than a minute ago!”.

Jen whirls rounds on him, eyes furious. “Evidently, it's not enough!” she retorts scathingly. She waves a hand full of contempt at Peter, who's still contemplating the moon in perfect silence. “We need him awake, not...”.

Derek growls, low and long, a savage warning, and that's enough to cut the nurse off. “Get that away from him”, he says, readying himself to jump at her if she doesn't. “He just spent two years in agony, and one in catatonia. Give him a bit of time, dammit!”. Jen's lips thin, and they both stare at each other for a minute before she sniffs disdainfully. “Very well. Coddle him if you must”. 

She shrugs. “But in the end, we don't have the time for the gentle method”. Derek grits his teeth – she's right, he knows. But damn if he'll admit it. “Just go watch him”, he indicates Logan with a small jerk of his head, “And bash him down again if he stirs. I'll handle Peter”. Jen opens her mouth, but Derek let his eyes shift, and she's cautious enough to not push. 

“Just wake him”, she spits as she passes to take up her position over Logan's prone body. Well. Not push too much, at least - he supposes he should be grateful they're not butting heads harder, or that Jen is still wary of him even in his state. Her new position places her almost at Derek's back, something that he's not so fond of, but moving to Peter's other side to have an eye on her is beyond him. 

If the nurse knew how weak he is right now...He'll probably be the one with a bashed in skull. Derek sighs and turns his attention back to Peter. First things first, even if he's definitely keeping an ear on Jen. 

So. What now? He was certain instinct would be almost all was left of his lover upon waking. He was expecting pain and blind terror at best, violence at worst. Not...that. Except for the fact that he's now sitting up instead of lying down, Peter seems just as unresponsive as he has been in the past year.

Alright. Alright. He needs to not panic. Everything has gone according to plan – he refuses to listen to the little voice of dread whispering Alexander's name in his head. He just needs to get Peter to notice him, and to listen. Derek bites his lip, considering. The only thing his lover seems to be remotely conscious of is the full moon – he's turned towards it, face imperceptibly tilted up like some kind of sun – moon? - flower. The question is, why?

The moon calls to his species, like a invisible, unshakable tug that invariably brings the wolf to the forefront – is that what Peter's trying to do? Call the animal part of himself? It would make sense, Derek muses. The healing these past years has to have taken its tool. It's very possible that the wolf part had been asleep all this time. Hadn't Peter said something to that effect after the break of the Pack bond? About the wolf stepping down to allow healing to work better? 

Derek tries to to remember to exact wording, but his aching head won't cooperate, no matter how hard he pushes, and he's reduced to hypothesis. Let's say the wolf fell asleep three years ago, to allow the healing trance to take over. It only makes sense that, when Peter emerged from his coma, his wolf woke up along with him, at least partially. But as long as his lover needs his healing to work at almost full time, the animal part is drawn back.

There's that. But the man just got a double adrenalin shot – he should be more awake than ever. If not his wolf, then Peter himself. So why this catatonia? It's like nobody's at command: not Peter, not his wolf...

Derek swallows convulsively when an horrible possibility brushes his mind. What if his lover is staying that way because there isn't, in fact, _anybody_ left? What if the fire burned his body along with his mind, leaving this empty shell, surviving only because the werewolf healing makes it so?

What if Peter is truly _dead_?

His frayed control turns his nails into claws as he grabs Peter's hand as hard as he dares, panic churning in his stomach. He never considered it. In three years, he was mindlessly driven by his oath to save Peter. It never occurred to him that maybe there was nothing left to save period. “Peter, _please_. I...”. Derek swiftly interrupts himself, unsure of what to say. Words don't seem to reach his lover in any way or form, but what else does he have? 

He cannot kick start healing, not in Peter's state, and needs Peter conscious, at least enough to partially shift. What can he...And then he realizes. He needs Peter to _shift_ – what Derek has to coax out isn't the human part of his lover, it's the _animal_ one, and that...that is simple enough. Peter's visible attraction to the moon indicates that his wolf is near the surface already.

All Derek has to do is to bring the instinct to full power. Most of the time, the quickest way to do that would be to severely wound the concerned werewolf, but Derek prefers to try another, more gentle tactic before he use this one. 

The sense wolves use the most is, by habit, the sense of smell – even in humans, it can be powerful stimulants to remember something or someone. Case in point, after a death, the most pregnant memories are often brought back by the perfume of the deceased. The same mechanism works for werewolves, if at another level completely: the scent of Pack is something deeply powerful – it calls at the very root of the animal part of oneself, bringing up the notions of utter safety, strength and happiness.

That's the main reason Omegas are hunted down; they are the very antithesis of Pack, a threat to the group as a whole. Lone wolves are already rather rare. Lone werewolves? It's considered as profoundly unnatural. Pack brings equilibrium; therefore a wolf without pack has every chance of turning rogue.

Or so they say.

Now, no matter how close they are, Derek knows that Peter and him aren't Pack. Not technically – there's no Pack bond between them, and only an Alpha can create such a link. Or, more specifically, an Alpha and at least two Betas – two of the alpha's Bites, if possible. Derek, however, certainly isn't one of Peter's Bites, there is only two of them, and no Alpha around. Not exactly the perfect poster for Pack.

But still, it's the only idea he has that isn't a crazy, stupid scheme. If it doesn't work..well. Not much choice: it will be the adrenalin. But there's not much to lose in trying. Derek rubs his pounding forehead, and his hand comes away sweaty and bloody. He snorts. Not much to lose indeed, considering his state. Or Peter's. It's not like the both of them can get truly worse at this stage.

He takes a steadying breath and starts to claw at his shirt's sleeve. It takes time, because blood loss and headache make him clumsy, but the fabric finally tears at the elbow, leaving his forearm completely bare. The wrist is one of the zones where one's scent concentrate, and Derek hopes Peter will be able to smell him even through the blood mattering his skin. If it works, it should help giving his wolf the necessary focus to truly wake. 

Hopefully, it'll have the same impact as Peter's had on him earlier – bringing enough clarity to rouse at the very least his wolf. All Derek needs is a clawed hand, and Peter (or rather, a part of Peter) conscious: it should be simple enough if his lover recognizes his scent as safe and familiar.

With a wince, Derek grabs the bed's edge and hauls himself upright, only to half crash down on the sheets. But he's where he wanted. And where he needs. “Peter”, he calls gently, because moving his lover without warning seems wrong somehow, “I...if you hear me, I'm going to do something, alright? I need to see your face, so I'm going to touch you, okay?”. 

With infinite care, he reaches out and slips his fingers along Peter's jaw to make him turn his head, gently brushing a stray strand of hair of his forehead. The older wolf's eyes are vacant and impassive, not reacting to the manipulation in any way, but Derek keeps his touch terribly soft and soothing, like Peter is a fragile and treasured figure of glass.

He lifts his bare wrist to press it just under his lover's nose, the way women give a perfume to scent in to another person – and the image makes Derek's lips stretch in a rueful smile. “The crazy things I do for you...frankly, it's getting ridiculous”. He shakes his head, biting his lip on a sudden, inappropriate urge to giggle. Nerves, probably.

But speaking actually helps Derek to swallow part of his worry and fear, so he keeps a low but steady chat. “Here”, he murmurs. “See? My scent. It's familiar, now, isn't it?”. He gently rolls his wrist in emphasis. “Or I hope so, but maybe I'm just being a bit narcissistic, after all. But well, it's...it's what your scent does to me, actually – it just feels so familiar, so soothing, like I'm always safe when I'm around you. Always loved”.

He lift his hand to carefully caress the scarred side of Peter's face. “You're safe, now. I'm here. Not going anywhere, ever – as long as you'll have me, I'm right here”. He forces his battered body to move into a true sitting position, so he can slip a hand behind Peter's back and press close.

Derek tilts his neck to the side – in werewolves, the zone where the scent of an individual is most concentrated. Because yes, wolves have a thing for necks, and no, it's not only for throat-sliting purposes. He presses forwards carefully, mindful of Peter's wounds.

“Here”, He runs a hand up on down on Peter's nape. “Here. You're safe with me. Always and always. I know you probably live a nightmare right now. I'll help”. He rears back a little so he can look into Peter's empty eyes. “But for that, I need you back”. Derek closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Peter's on his whole side. “Please. Please just try”.

He swallows, and moves away to glare helplessly at the ceiling, painfully aware that he's hitting the end of his arguments. He desperately wanted to spare Peter more pain, but he doesn't have a...He suddenly freezes. It was barely noticeable, but...was Peter's face that close to his neck a minute ago? Or has Derek just moved somehow? He holds his breath as he moves slowly, without daring to believe, until he's eye to eye with his lover.

“Peter”, he whispers, and the eyes that look back at him are blue, the bluest he has ever seen. Yes. He loses about ten good seconds just to look, to crave the image in his memories, and then he shakes himself out of his awed stupor. “Yes”, he murmurs, “Yes, love, that's exactly what we need. Keep it up just a little bit more. I'll be back right away”. He turns and gingerly get off the bed – almost fall down on his face the second he's standing, but manages to catches himself on the wall just in time.

He limps – crawls would probably be a more apt description – the two meters divide between him and Jen and Logan's unconscious body, and fall on his knees beside it. “We need to get him to Peter” he pants out. Jen nods curtly and grabs the Alpha's leg, while Derek catches a fistful of shirt.

By repeated pushing and pulling, they finally manage to get the Alpha sitting at the foot of the bed, head supported by the mattress. Derek sits – falls – on the sheets and takes Peter's hand urgently. "Love?" The eyes that rise to his are still supernatural blue, but his lover's face is gaunt with pain. God, this must be torture to Peter.

But they're here, finally. “Love, listen. I need you to do one last thing for me, and after I'll let you sleep again”. Derek smiles as encouragingly as he can, even through it probably looks like some kind of horrible wince. “I need you to get your claws out. Can you do that for me?”. The eyes blink slowly, almost lazily, and Derek is wondering if Peter has understood or if it's too much of a complex demand, when he feels the sharp points of growing claws dig in his hand. 

It takes almost two whole minutes for the process to end – something that should be as natural as breathing. But Derek doesn't let any of his feelings slip in his voice as he chants an interrupted flow of encouragements, gently prodding and pushing when Peter looks like he wants to stop. 

He prods and prods again until finally, with a broken, anguished groan that break Derek's heart, Peter's claws are fully out, two and half centimeters worth of sharp, hard as diamonds nails. He doesn't hesitate, stats to move immediately.

He grabs his lover's left hand, yanks Logan's head by the hair savagely to expose his throat...and guides Peter's extended claws in a terrible, merciless downwards slash.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter 6! 
> 
> Enjoy and tell me what you think!

Derek clenches his teeth and forces himself to bypass his nausea – he may be more or less used to blood and gore, a throat slashed wide open is always a stomach-churning sight. He bends down to carefully press two fingers on the side of Logan's neck. 

The beat under his fingers pulses one, two times...and then, with a last jerk, the Alpha's eyes snap open on ruby red eyes, before the light, supernatural and otherwise, fades from his pupils, leaving only a pair of brown eyes sating unseeingly at the ceiling.

The young wolf closes his eyes briefly with a sigh of relief. That's done, at least, and for once without too much unwelcome complications. And now...

He turns to Peter, warily. Truth is, he's not sure what to expect – the power, Logan's power, has faded, that's for sure, but Derek doesn't know much about the transfer of the Alpha status from one individual to another. 

Peter's books had been very vague about the subject in itself. Even the described methods had been smoky. _“By will, by force, by Gift”_ , the tome had said. Not exactly scientific precision, so Derek tried to develop from here on his own and assumed a lot of things.

Like the fact that both _“by will”_ and _“by Gift”_ , were ruled out, since Peter wasn't in any state to will anything and James probably not in the mood to Gift anything to anyone, much less to his Gifted Omega brother.

So _“by force”_ , had become his default; and he had naturally considered that if it was some kind of strength trial, then killing by proxy probably wouldn't do. Which is why he needed Peter to be at the very least slightly conscious. But now...

Now, _nothing_ , apparently. Peter isn't moving, eyes fixed on Logan's prone body – the very one slowly but steadily slipping down towards the floor. A part of Derek murmurs about the respect due to the dead, but trying to catch the man is beyond him.

He would certainly fall along with the body, anyway. And he has more important things to do.

“Peter?”, he calls. He hears Jen step forwards hurriedly and extends an arm to bar her movement. “No”, he says warningly the nurse without taking his eyes off his lover. “I have no idea what he's thinking or what he's feeling. He could very well rip your head off by pure instinct without knowing what he's doing”.

Derek slowly shakes his head. “Me at least, I smell familiar. He won't hurt me”. _Or so I hope_ , he silently adds. “Peter? Could you look at me?”. He carefully sits on the side of the bed, hands in plain view, eyes slightly downcast and throat extended, as non-threatening as he can.

“I really, really need to see you eyes, love”. No answer, and Derek dares to put a hand on Peter's wrist. A mistake, he instantly understands, but it's too late. Peter whole body goes tense and he snarls, something fully, entirely animal. When his head snap up, there's nothing human in his bloody red eyes.

Derek instantly freezes, half instinct and half reason. “Sorry”, he says, keeping his voice low and contrite. “I didn't mean to startle you”. He turns his head slightly, showing more skin, hoping to calm his lover.

Apparently to no avail, because Peter snarls again, aggressive and furious – Derek's submission isn't appeasing him in the slightest, and the young wolf fears he knows why. He's not submitting, not truly, and Peter no doubt feels it. But thing is, he can't. As long as he doesn't know if Peter is in control enough, he cannot risk putting himself under his authority – he needs to be free to intervene in any way necessary, including restraining his lover if must be.

He cannot do that if he bows to Peter's power as an Alpha. Fuck, he hadn't been prepared to that – there never was any power play between Peter and him; they were fully equals in everything. The idea that Peter would want his submission...it had never crossed his mind.

Derek's lips thin. _Idiot_ , he mentally berates himself. Of course he wants submission from an Omega – an Alpha's power is based on Pack, and the number of wolves in that Pack. It's his instinct speaking. 

The quicker he finds wolves to create a Pack with, the more power he accumulates, the safest he is. Or rather, the safest he believes he is. The instinct to give the Bite will be high, too, and Derek throws a worried glance to Jen from the corner of his eye.

Not that he's worried _about_ her: but he doesn't doubt she would jump on the occasion of becoming one of them, and that would make her very dangerous. Derek has enough to do with a feral Peter as it is. No need for a newly turned psychopath as well.

He bites his lip, thinking fast. Peter isn't in any state of mind to listen to Derek – his wolf is overwhelmed by the Alpha power, high from the sudden change in status. Derek's only link to Peter at the moment is broken.

A bad situation, but Derek , while he refused to believe that Peter would turn crazy, has nonetheless prepared a contingency plan. Just in case. Hopeful but not a fool – no way he'd risk unleashing a wild Alpha on the town.

For Peter's own protection, he cannot let his lover lose while he is like this. The Hunters would come, as well as Deaton, and even the Hales, all decided to put him down, and Derek is clear-headed enough to know he'd have no chance. Not against them all.

Which means he only has one solution left. He sighs. Jen, won't like it, Peter will certainly try to rip Derek's throat out for daring it, and, icing on the cake, Derek himself will no doubt faint dead from it – and end at the mercy of a furious Alpha.

Oh, yes, he is _such_ a strategist. Two enemies left alive behind to hunt him down – one of them Gifted - and a feral werewolf Alpha for only possible ally – and at the moment, looking more than ready to tear Derek to pieces.

Joy.

He sighs again, a rueful, tired smile. Christ, this is just pathetic. A plan, he'd called it. This was no plan. It was a bunch of crazy ideas barely standing on the top of one another: the most unstable house of cards ever. It's a miracle the whole thing hasn't crashed down on Derek's head yet. 

And he's going to put another level on this already crumbling castle. If this is fated to go to hell as it seems to be heading, at least he'll go kicking and screaming the whole way. He rubs a hand to his forehead, trying to find his concentration. _Just one time. Please. One last time_.

He breathes out, grabs Peter's arm in an iron-grip without any warning...

The outraged, furious growl is suddenly cut off as they vanish without a sound, a blur of air the only disturbance in their wake.

***

Derek howls in pain when Peter starts to claw at his chest in what he supposes has to be panic and rage. He has to admit, suddenly turning blind and deaf doesn't feel very nice even when you're used to it, so...

He still snarls right back, angrier that he dares to admit – he knows, intellectually, that this isn't Peter's fault, that his lover is only terrified and in pain, but goddammit, couldn't one single person tonight try to _help_ rather than attempt to tear him into ribbons?

He manages to put a clawed hand right in Peter's face, enough to push him back and throw a wild look around. He finally, finally, spots the bed and savagely knees Peter in the crotch – he doesn't have the time or the energy for more complicated tactics.

He kicks his lover back with a foot in the middle of the chest – it's easier than he expected. Peter lost a lot of weight in the last years, and he stumbles backwards of several steps with a hiss of pain – from which blow, Derek isn't sure.

But he doesn't wait to find out. The only chance he has to overpower Peter is now, while he's still confused by the teleportation and weak from his catatonia. If he manages to harness the Alpha power rather than to drown in it?

Derek is _so_ dead.

So he does the only think he can. He jumps at his lover, driving him backwards again and again, without pause. Derek's blows are clumsy, and his vision is steadily turning dark - in any other circumstances, Peter would have gutted him two seconds into their fight.

As it is, Peter is about as weak as him, and they probably look like two crazy dudes swatting aimlessly at each other. Most of their blows miss by three good inches, but still, Peter is losing more ground. Derek is exhausted, but he has reason on his side.

Reason and strategy, in fact, and he throws a leg between Peter's as the older wolf stumbles again. The result is even more spectacular that what Derek expected: Peter goes right down, crashing on his back, on the hard, merciless floor.

The momentary daze of the shock is exactly what he needs to grab Peter by his bathrobe, haul him upright – and God, how much weight did he lose, exactly, that Derek can lift him so easily? - and throw him without much gentleness on the bed. 

He instantly falls on his knees at the left foot of the bed, groping desperately on the ground for...There. He opens the little vial with shaking hands, and slowly shakes the powder out in a thin line, completing the circle around the bed as carefully as he can.

And none too soon either, because Peter rears up with a howl of pure rage and jumps at him with the evident intention of killing him on the spot. Derek closes his eyes when Peter crashes against the invisible barrier and falls back on the bed with a whimper of uncomprehending shock and pain.

“I'm sorry”, he murmurs, voice raw with exhaustion as Peter claws at the invisible wall, only to retract his hand with another pained whine. “I'm sorry, I didn't have any other choice, I...”. Derek's voice dies, and he sways on he stands.

The last thing he sees as he crashes on the floor in turn are red eyes fixed on him, shining with hatred.

***

 _“Derek”_.

It's not a shout or even a growl. The word is simply said, low and calm, and infused with an Alpha's terrible, inescapable strength of will. It tears right through Derek's unconsciousness, jerking him mercilessly awake. 

He blinks, momentary lost and afraid in the throbbing of his body and the presence of an Alpha so near. Alphas are dangerous. Ruthless. The image of James' fingers digging bruises into his neck, of Logan's weight pinning him to the ground, dances before his eyes, horribly real.

He crawls away blindly, as far as he can from the power he can feel at his left, trying to gather his crumbling thoughts and wit. His elbow connects with something hard, and he turns his head towards the foot of the armchair he has just hit with a wince.

His fear is slowly calming, and he carefully grabs a hold on the chair to get himself up. The scent all around is his, mingled with Peter's and books and coffee. He's home. He's safe. The instinct finally dies down enough that Derek can start to think.

Enough that he realizes that the only Alpha who can be in the room with him isn't James or Logan. He turns towards the bed, barely daring to believe it actually could have worked; but from behind the barrier, Peter holds his eyes, cool and perfectly composed.

Derek swallows. “You...”. He clears his throat, painfully awake of his torn clothes and shredded skin, and feeling oddly out of place for it. “How are you...feeling?”. His fingers are digging into the wood of the chair's armrest to calm his growing nerves.

Peter tilts his head, and his eyes narrow. “Better than I was”, he answers somewhat curtly. “But”, he adds, much more gently, “ I'll be a lot better once you'll have let me out of here”. Derek nods mechanically, even if he's internally still trying to catch up on the fact that Peter is _there_.

“I...Yeah”. He nods again, biting his lip. “Sure, I can break the barrier, I...”. He frowns, feeling a bit thrown off and strangely light-headed. He walks forwards before his brain can engage, but stops after a few paces. “Hang on”.

His head snaps up to Peter, Peter with his red, red eyes. “What...”. Derek licks his lips, unsure of whether he's being paranoid or if his gut feeling is right. “Are you doing something? I don't feel so well”. He briefly closes his eyes, but Peter's voice tears right through it.

“You're simply adapting to the presence of an Alpha around”, the man explains patiently. “It'll take some time, that's all”. He smiles encouragingly, even through the scarred left side of his face doesn't move at all, like a rigid piece of melted plastic.

And that's weird, actually. Wasn't the power meant to heal him? If he's well enough to be awake and functional, then why hasn't the scarring faded? Derek puts a hand to his head, desperately attempting to shake off his dizziness.

“Why aren't you healing?”, he asks, and Peter sighs. “Derek”, the older wolf starts, a hint of tension filtering through his voice, “Why don't you let me out first? Speaking from behind a invisible prison wall isn't exactly fun, love”.

And, yeah, that makes sense, but... “I'm not sure if I should...”. Derek hesitates and takes a quick glance to the clock on the night stand. They're the 17th. Two days after the full – can Peter have mastered the Alpha power and have come back from his burns in two days?

Derek steps at the mountain ash's limit, searching Peter's face. “Why are you keeping you eyes shifted?”. He asks it like a dare, more forceful than he meant to, but his head is aching something fierce and his chest feels like a mangled mess – which it is.

He's hurting, and the feeling that something isn't quite right keeps needling at the back of his head. Sorry if his temper is starting to get short. “So?”, he prods again when Peter stays silent. His lover sighs audibly.

“I cannot yet keep all the power in”, he retorts with visible irritation. “Forgive me this severe falling after two _days_ of adaptation”. The words are bordering on harsh, and the ruby glow seems to flare along with Peter's exasperation. “Now, are you going to let me out?”.

Derek's lips thin in an unhappy tilt. “If your control is too loose...”, he starts to protest, and Peter emits a miffed growl, short and tense. “I'm talking to you, am I?”, he cuts in. “If I was out of control, do you truly believe I would be sitting here and doing nothing?”.

“You not doing nothing”, Derek protests, realizing how true the words are as he speaks them. “You're trying to convince me to let you out”. It's like a jolt ripping the daze his brain was caught in, and he steps back hurriedly, eyes narrowed.

“What are you doing to me?”, he spits angrily. “What are you...”. The realization hits, leaving him bereft and horribly betrayed, shocked beyond words. He steps back again, like distance can do anything for this situation. “I...Get out of my head!”. He's aiming for forceful, but it comes out shaky and disbelieving. Peter rises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I believe”, he comments idly, “that I'm not the one who has a problem with control here, love. You seem quite agitated”.

“Fuck you!”, Derek explodes. He swallows raggedly, rising glowing blue eyes to Peter's. “And stop doing this!”. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog slowly creeping back in. Peter looks at him calmly, expression suddenly cold.

“Derek”, he says, very slowly like he's speaking to a disobedient child. “I am tired of this game. You are going to let me out. _Now!_ ”. The command is laced with both an Alpha's authority and what Derek suspects is the feeling of Peter's Gift – a creeping eagerness to do as told.

He brings his hands to his temples, claws digging into his scalp, breathing in harsh pants. It's like his body is tearing in two; the wolf's urge to obey to an Alpha, helped along by Peter's snake-like, subtle pushing.

And on the other side, the little power of his human will, trying to resist this horrible siren call. He whines, a expression of pain and maybe something close to begging for the horrible felling of being torn apart to stop, to no result.

If anything, it increases, closing up on him like a merciless pressure – he'd felt it, once, when James had ordered him to let go of John, but it had never been anything close to that. Maybe it's the power plus of Peter's Gift, or maybe his lover is naturally stronger.

“Let me out”. The words are somehow perfectly audible over the ringing in his ears, like crystal cold ice. “I don't want to hurt you, Derek. Only to get out”. Derek's eyes rise almost against his will, and he spots Peter, sitting cross-legged on the bed, calm as you please.

“Is that so much to ask?”. The question is gentle, almost murmured in a lover's warm tones, and Derek feels the human side of his will start to erode as well. He has missed Peter. God, so much. He has been alone, alone for three years, an lone Omega fighting for the two of them.

He's tired. So tired, and he's hurting, everywhere. Every scar, present and past, seems to throb along with his heartbeat. He just wants to stop for a while, to be the one protected and cared for, just this once. As Peter said, is that so much to ask?

Through the haze covering his vision, he sees the side of Peter's mouth tilt up in a triumphant smile, completely at odds with the soothing words he says next. “Let me out”. The pushing in his head turns into a pleasant warmth. 

“I'm Alpha, now. I'll protect you, just as you protected me. Nobody will hurt us, never again. I will kill them all, my love. Kate, the Argents...Every hunter in town, if need be. We'll be safe. We'll be Pack. Just let me out”.

The pain has disappeared, leaving only a deep sense of attachment and affection. The worst of it, Derek understands, is that Peter means every word. He doesn't intend to make Derek suffer, or to abandon him, not in any way. 

He just believes that being let out is important enough to force Derek into it. In order to protect himself, and to protect _Derek_ as well. In a twisted way, he does it out of love, and that only drives home how unbalanced he must be.

Derek takes a breath, closes his eyes. Deaton was right, at least partially. He was a fool to not realize how deep of an impact the fire would leave on Peter. And associated to the Alpha's instinct to protect his Pack at any cost – of course his lover wants to be out.

Derek feels tears well up in his eyes, rage and powerlessness burning trough his chest. There's only one thing he can do, something that Peter will probably take as a betrayal, but there's nothing else to do.

His lover has just proved that he was ready to kill anyone that could remotely be a threat to himself and Derek. That's about a quarter of Beacon Hills of late. And how to know how many else, depending on Peter's arbitrary criteria. No.

Derek shakes his head. “No”, he says firmly. “No, Peter, I'm sorry but I can't do that”. He rises his chin, lets his wolf out, expanding as hard as he can...And drags it back, buries it in himself the way James taught him years ago. When Peter hisses, “Let me out!”, eyes flashing an angry red, Derek is ready. The Alpha's order rears at him like a hurricane, sinks and claws into his bones, trying to find a catch...

Fails. 

The shock on Peter's face would be comical in any other situation. As it is, Derek simply smiles sadly. “You can try to use your Gift if you want”. He shrugs. “But we both know that on werewolves, it's not so useful, especially without the help of the Alpha power to back it up”.

Derek steps back and lets himself slide along the side of the armchair to end up sitting on the floor. He tugs his knees close to his body and puts his chin on them. He'd look terribly young if it wasn't for the hard, unyielding glint in his hazel eyes.

“It will take as much time as it needs. But I swear you won't go rogue on me, do you hear me?”. Derek looks at Peter, eyes and chin up, teeth bared as much as he can when they're blunt and human.

“I won't let you turn into the monster they all imagine”.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here chapter 7 - already, because for once I have all the time I want to write. As you'll (maybe) notice, it's a bit shorter than usual, but I rather cut it off there before it became too long.
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

“So, that's the extent of your perfect plan? Leave me trapped in here until I go back to my senses and become nice, gentle uncle Peter again?”

The voice is dripping with acid mockery, and Derek closes his eyes for a second. He shuts the door carefully, giving himself a minute to erase any trace of tiredness from his expression, before he turns around with a unimpressed scoff.

“Please. Like “gentle” was ever one of your characteristics. You can be nice enough when you want, especially with people you like, but you don't survive and fight like you do by being _gentle_ ”. Derek quickly scans the ash to make sure the circle's still holding, and goes put the kettle on.

His cold mask slips away the second he has his back turned, and he sighs silently. Two days since he trapped Peter, and the whole situation has already turned in a emotional war-zone - Peter prodding at every crack in Derek's armor, and Derek snapping back as best as he can.

He never had his lover's ability to shred someone open with words, through, and it shows. 

Peter knows Derek, knows how to push and hit, and how to make it hurt. It's exhausting to try to keep up and give as good as he get, or to ignore Peter's jibes. Sometimes, Derek just wants to hit him and break his jaw so he'll shut up. Peter emits something of amused sound. “Ouch. I'm hurt, truly”. The comment is the epitome of ironic, and Derek grits his teeth. And then the voice turns thoughtful, and the young wolf knows the battle has truly begun.

“At least the fire sharpened your claws a bit, so I suppose everything isn't lost. Remind me, how many deaths on your hunting board?”. Derek actually snorts at this one. Peter can hurt him with many things, but certainly not that.

“About a dozen”. He turns around, leaning on the counter, and tilts his head. “Maybe more”, he admits after a minute. “I didn't exactly kept count”. Peter's eyebrows rose slightly. Seeing him surprised is something of a rarity, so Derek enjoys his upper hand for what it's worth.

Not that it will last long.

He inwardly sighs again. The truth is, he doesn't know what to do – what to do to get out of this face-off they're trapped in, clawing and slashing at each other, spitting at each other's face and slowly but surely destroying their relationship.

He lets his gaze linger on the man on the bed. The paradox on the bed would be more accurate, he supposes. It's Peter, yet at the same time it's not. Oh, he looks like Peter, that's for sure. Even through his body has thinned, even with the horrible scarring on his face, and his perpetually red eyes and too long hair. It's Peter. But he's not the man Derek knew anymore – there's no trace of his warmth, of his control or razor-sharp wit.

This Peter speaks to cut deep, without mercy or pity. It's like the fire burned everything out to leave only an ice-like core – a shell of the man he was. A hard, harsh and cynical shadow, a will of iron that leaves Derek without any hold.

After Derek's initial rejection, Peter had just closed off and hasn't spoken of it since – it's like Derek isn't worth any special treatment anymore. Just an enemy among others. The main enemy, even. The one who keeps him in a cage like some animal. And Derek is terribly aware that the situation cannot keep going on like this, not on the long term. Each hour Peter spends trapped here makes him more angry and more rogue, at Derek and at the word.

But how could he let his lover out when he's clearly decided to go on a killing spree? God. The whole thing just doesn't have any issue.

On the bed, Peter has risen to a sitting position, seemingly perking up at something. “So you don't even care about any of them? You killed them all, and you don't even remember the exact number?”. Peter's sly grin is growing at each word. Derek feels a stir of unease, but he nods, as carefree as he can. “They were trying to kill you. I didn't exactly make friend with the guys”. To say the truth, he happens to actually know the exact number. But he refuses to let any guilt grow on him all the same.

Peter chuckles, but even the sound cannot hide the cold gleam in his eyes. “So you can kill a bunch of Hunters and go on you merry way, but the idea that I may do the same is so terrible?” Derek huffs a laugh, both at himself and at his lover.

He should have seem that one coming from miles away. He's really tired, to not notice where Peter was heading with this. “There's no “may” going on, here. You'll kill anyone in your way, and that implies a lot more than some Hunters”. Derek shakes his head. “If I was sure you'd go after Kate and the rest...I would have probably let you go. Hell, I would have followed. But I think...I think you're too angry to stop there. I believe you'll kill anyone related to the fire, and anyone you need out of your way otherwise”.

The kettle whistles, like some kind of stop on the argument, and Derek decides he's weary enough to follow the arbitrary call of the machine. Peter has fallen silent, too, apparently thinking on something, and that's more than alright with Derek.

He goes make himself a coffee, drops in the armchair and closes his eyes, leaving the drink to go cold, untouched.

***

“Let me go”.

Derek groans out loud and stretches with a wince. The armchair doesn't become more comfortable the more you sleep in it, sadly. “Peter, it's seven in the morning. Or about. Can you please wait until tonight to try and bait me into an argument?”.

There's no answer, and Derek hides a yawn as he puts the kettle on. Whoever invented school is an asshole. Like Derek give a shit about who created the tank engine, frankly. He has more important problems, like ducking the police.

He got interrogated by officer Stilinski yesterday about Peter's mysterious disappearance, and he denied any knowledge of his uncle's whereabouts – a lie helped a lot by the fact that he officially stopped coming to see the man more than two years ago.

 _How would he know anything when he doesn't care one whit about his relative?_ The thought had been plain on the officer's face even with his wolf still buried deep. The older man's disapprobation had been evident even without catching his scent. Between the man's displeasure and Derek's apparent lack of care, the young man hopes that Stilinski will promptly mark him off his list and leave him alone. The last thing he needs is the cops on his trail.

But at least, they don't seem to be too intent on badgering him at the moment. Hurray. He goes back to his mug and takes a sip, letting the drink wake him – since his wolf is cut off, he has acquired a new, deep understanding of the students' general addiction to coffee. He throws a quick glance to his watch. 7:17 AM. Well. That answers the question of showering. Christ.

He has been crawling around for two days, unused to a very human resistance to stiffness and sleep deprivation. Not to mention the way Peter gets under his skin. 

With a put-upon sigh, he gets up and heads towards the bathroom to at least wash up a little. When he gets back out, Peter is eating one of the chicken sandwiches Derek threw through the barrier earlier. It's a relief. If Peter had decided to go all hunger strike on him, Derek has no idea what he would have done. But his lover is clever enough to know that it's not a solution, especially in his still relatively weak state. 

Derek isn't sure of how much of Peter's wounds is healed, and how much is just scarring – ugly but inoffensive. But just like he eats, Derek trusts Peter to tell him if something's wrong. No matter how much he has changed, Derek is certain Peter won't take the risk of falling sick. Too dangerous. Weakness is the best way to get killed, so forcefully risking yourself...No. They're wolves, the both of them: they have survival etched in their very being. And with Hunters maybe still be on the prowl...

Peter is practical. And pragmatic. And clever – he'll never be so stupid as to starve himself.

Good point for Derek, and one less problem to add on the list, so he's sure not gonna complain. He grabs his bag, throws a careful, practiced eye on the ash line on the ground, and nods his departing salute. Peter ignores him, but again, he generally does unless he's actively trying to bait him into a fight. Derek got used to it, so he simply slips his jacket on and heads towards the door. Peter's voice stops him short as he reaches for the handle.

“Derek, for the last time, let me out”.

Normally, Derek would just roll his eyes and ignore the demand altogether, but he knows Peter too well to not notice the steel filtering through his voice. He slowly turns around to meet Peter red eyes, and frowns. “I always refused”, he remarks calmly. “What makes you so certain I will say yes now?”. 

Peter's lips twitch in something that could be a smile is it wasn't so glacial. “I know you won't. You're too stubborn”. His eyes narrow, and he tilts his head on the side. This time, as he speaks, his tone seems caught between regret and genuine appreciation. “ If I didn't hate you so much for putting me in a cage, I could almost admire this tremendous strength of will of yours”.

Derek rises an eyebrow. “Thanks. I guess”. Peter answering grin is wry, and almost, almost like his old self. “You're most welcome”. And then the smile vanishes, leaving only impassiveness in his wake. “Now, I'll ask again: will you let me out?”.

It's Derek's turn to smile dryly, there and gone like bitter quicksilver. 

“No”.

***

Peter's eyes rise when the door opens, and he looks over the young man outlined in the frame in perfect silence.

Derek is drenched from head to toe, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes somber and cold. He's shivering, and his jacket does little to hide his torn shirt and the large, bloody gouge on his side, as well as the dark bruise on his cheek.

He doesn't try to get in, just looks at Peter from the doorway, mute and unmoving. The older wolf's nostrils flare, and he says, flatly, “I hope you didn't meet any law representative. The amount of blood on you person would have been hard to explain”.

Hearing the man's voice seems to unfreeze Derek, and he slowly starts to move, almost stumbling on his own feet as he advances in the room. He weakly grabs the handle and barely manages to close the door before leaning on it. He closes his eyes for a second, and then he swallows raggedly and looks up at Peter from exhausted hazel eyes. “I suppose you got to her when you woke in the hospital?”. His voice is raw, too, with cold and pain.

Peter inclines his head. “Yes”. He shrugs gracefully. “It was instinct, mostly. You refused to submit, but her...her mind was already unstable, and she had put so much focus on me already...It was incredibly easy to get in her head”.

Derek stares at him for a minute more, and then he lets his head fall against the wood and starts to laugh, something low and bordering on hysteric. “Yeah”, he finally says when he has calmed down. A mirthless smile tugs at his lips. 

“I used to say crazy psycho, but...Unstable. Yeah, no arguments here”. He chuckles again, and drags himself up and away from the door to come and stand in front of the circle. He looks at Peter, expression going closed-off, his ringed eyes like bruises on his face.

“So. Jen”. Derek's lips twist into an ugly smile. “She's dead, you know. Bashed in skull after a few broken ribs and knee to keep her down”. He laughs, a sad, pained sound. “I got good at that, actually. Killing people, I mean. Even like this – human”. His eyes are hard but haunted. “She's dead”, he spits it like acid, like a mad dare and a challenge all in one. “You fucking missed, _love_ ”. For the first time, there's rage and disgust in the word. Almost hatred. “I'm still here, and you? You not going _anywhere_ ”.

Peter's eyes flash at that, a short growl tearing from his throat. “You have no right...”, he starts, and Derek can't help but to burst out of laughing, even if it hurts like hell, cutting through his uncle's indignant tones. “I have every right”, he hisses savagely, eyes gleaming, intent and dark and disturbingly wolf-like even if they're still hazel instead of cold blue. “ _You_ gave me the right the second you decided that making Jen try to off me was acceptable – you tried to kill me, and that?”.

Derek snorts bitterly. “That gives me every right to kill you in turn, if I want. Or to keep you here to root if that's what I decide”. He shrugs, and any pity in his eyes is gone, replaced by bottomless rage and pain. 

He takes a short, shuttered breath. “You know, I get it, actually. You want out. I understand that. But kill me? That's...”. Derek looks away, and sour pain finally filters in his voice as he continues, “I would never have thought you'd be ready to do that”. He steps forwards, like he's ready to tear into the circle and pass the barrier. His hands, his whole body iches with the urge to grab Peter and hit him until he's as bloody as Derek – until he feels pain, pain like the one tearing Derek's chest in two.

“I _saved your life_ , you son of a bitch. If it wasn't for me, you still be a burned mess – a catatonic mess. And I...I didn't do it for thanks or gratitude, but...fuck you. _Kill_ me, really?” Derek shakes his head. “And you wonder why I keep you here?”.

He shakes his head one last time and turns away to limp towards the bathroom. “Derek..”, Peter starts, but Derek isn't in the mood for a verbal assault or a jibe about his weaknesses and failures.

“ _Fuck you_ ”.

The door slams in his wake.

***

Derek jerks awake with a start, breathing turned harsh from panic and fear, before a coughing fit folds him up in two, jarring his wounded side violently. He bites his lip on a whimper, and finally sits up.

He throws a quick look around, reassuring himself with the stillness of his surroundings, bathed in the cold moonlight. Peter's motionless form is lying on the bed, breathing deep and regular, and Derek slumps back in the armchair with a sigh. He's fine, everything's fine. It was just a nightmare. A bad dream. Well. Not at the start, not when the Peter of his vision had been lazily sliding down Derek's chest, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses in his wake and murmuring mindless praise. 

And then...

Then his lover's grip had suddenly turned forceful, pining Derek to the bed with bruising force, loving blue eyes turning wild with madness and red as blood. Peter had grinned down at him without a hint a gentleness, straddling Derek hips triumphantly. “See? I'm out, now. _Love_ ”. The hands tracing reverent lines on his skin earlier had closed around his neck, squeezing mercilessly. “And you'll pay for that. I'm no one's caged animal!”.

And the hands had tightened, suffocating him, killing him second by second. "You should have killed me the second I lost consciousness”, a voice had hissed at his ear, and suddenly it wasn't Peter over him anymore, but Logan – his eyes just as red, crazed by hatred and bloodlust. The same words from this moment in this hospital, the same mad, exulting tone. “Because now, I will drag you with me, you little...”. And that's when Derek had snapped awake – the lack of air, probably.

His breathing is rough and laborious, echoing in the silence of the house, and his forehead was covered in sweat. His checks and neck are burning, too, but he's shivering despite it – it's like the cold has slipped into his very bones.

Fuck. He'd denied it last evening, reluctant to show any weakness to Peter, but he's definitely ill.

With a sigh, he looks out the window. Only dark, not even a hint of the dawn's light. With his luck, he'll catch his feet on something and break a limb in the following fall – but he forces himself up nonetheless. He's sweating and thirsty, and cold water will probably make him feel less like a living corpse. With a grunt, he gets on his feet, every joint protesting painfully at the motion, like a rusted machine.

He steps towards the bathroom, but finally reconsiders and turns to the sink instead. With the way the walls seem to twist around, it seems safer - the sink is a lot closer from Derek's position. He splashes iced water on his face and neck, but the blessed feeling of the cold only lasts a short minute before his whole body seems to heat again. With a silent curse, Derek stumbles back to his armchair, falling down into a tight ball under his blankets. 

He falls under in less than five minutes, crashing from the fever, without noticing the glint of Peter's ruby eyes, assessing him carefully.

***

Derek bends over his fuming cup like he can somehow dive in it and soak up all its warmth. He's iced, even curled as much as he can under his blanket.

He closes his eyes, and lets his head fall against the back of the chair, trying to relive part of the tension buzzing at his temples and nape. It's like his skull has turned into a pressure-cooker, ready to explode at any too-sharp movement.

“You look awful, my love”. The voice rises from behind him, false indifference not hiding the malicious note under the cool words. “I think you should call in sick for today”. Derek's irritation rises like a hurricane, and he grits in teeth in an effort to keep it all in. “And I think”, he retorts in a voice he somehow manages to make sound mostly equal, “that you should keep your counsel to yourself. _Love_ ”. The slight outburst makes his head aches even more, through, and he presses a raging fist to his forehead.

“And what the fuck is this house, anyway?” he adds wildly, needing to vent his frustration somehow. “There's not a single aspirin here!”. Derek exhales, suddenly too hot, and he throws his blanket off in an exasperated motion – he's strung so tight that he's going to summarily explode very soon, especially if Peter keeps prodding. He rises and stomps to the bathroom – or rather, he tries, but ends up catching himself on the nearest wall.

Furious at himself for his weakness, he squares his shoulders, but Peter, never one to miss a jibe, decides to add to his humiliation. “Aspirin”, he repeats slowly, like he's tasting a new, unknown word, and then he starts to laugh, cruelly mocking. “Forgive me, I somehow believed we were all werewolves, here”. Derek throws him a baleful glare over his shoulder. “We are”, he spits back venomously. “Just remind me again because of who I'm forced to stay on the human side?”.

Peter draws an eyebrow, the accusation apparently slipping on him like water on a duck. “I'm not the one who made you amputate yourself, Derek. At least bear your stupidity as your own”. The disdain is dripping from Peter's words and whole stance, and Derek sees red. He's on the other side of the room before he can think, and only the barrier keeps him from jumping on Peter and doing something he would bitterly regret – attack his lover, get himself killed in the bargain, and see Peter saunter out.

Not necessarily in that order.

He stops short just before he hits the ash wall headfirst, and takes a ragged breath, hanging to his tattered control. “Shut up. I mean it, Peter. _Shut up_ ”. And Peter's lips curl into a terrible smile, full of teeth and vicious. “Or what?” Derek opens his mouth...and closes it without emitting a sound. Or what, indeed. What can he do? Insult Peter some more? It may feel good, but it doesn't help anything – not the situation, and certainly not their relation.

He shakes his head helplessly, rage burning into his lungs. There's nothing he can do – nothing except keep the situation as it is, this horrible stand-off where they spend their time metaphorically shredding each other to pieces. 

“I don't get it” Derek finally admits. He didn't mean to back off, didn't mean to soften or show his belly like this, but exhaustion is catching up. He's just hurting, hurting so much, body and soul; at this moment, fighting is just...impossible. “I don't get you”, he continues helplessly. “I can understand that you want your vengeance. I can understand hatred, and I know you suffered beyond what I can imagine in the last years. But...kill everyone and anyone? That's bullshit”.

Derek swallows. “If you wanted that, somebody who would go on a killing spree with you without batting an eye...”. He closes his eyes, trapping his tears inside his burning eyelids. “...you should have kept Jen”, he finally chokes out. 

It seems that for once, Peter doesn't have a ready answer.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here chapter 8, as usual betaed by El!
> 
> Enjoy!

“...so you're going to rip them into pieces, do you hear me? The lacrosse team was butchered, so this is your chance – the only chance you basket-ball nerds are going to get! Let me tell you: ten years ago, the basket team was the ruling power of this school”.

Finstock stops momentarily to take his breath back, before he ends, “So you? You're going to spit your guts if you have to, but you will win this god-damned match! And that mean that the training is going to change, got it? What we had before? That was child play. Your bunch will be _begging_ to stop when I'm done with you. Starting next week, and any absence ends in being thrown out from the team, is that clear to your atrophied brains?”

“The chorus of “Yes, sir!”, that follows makes Derek's head virtually crack like an egg, and he grits his teeth. What the fuck is he doing here anyway? He should have listened to Peter, hell, listened to _himself_ , and stayed in bed.

He walks back to the bench, grabs his bag and tears through it until he finds two aspirin to swallow dry – he's already way beyond the normal dosage, but fuck it. It's that or murdering anyone speaking louder than a murmur.

With a sigh, he gives himself a minute to close his eyes and enjoy the calm now that the others students are gone out of hearing range. Sometimes, being human can be a blessing – even if, as a little inner voice remarks judiciously in his head, _if you were still a wolf, you wouldn't be sick in the first place_.

Yeah. Right. 

He rubs his temples, acutely aware that even half an hour with his natural healing capacity would rid him of this damn cold and fever. Not to mention it's slowly worsening, at least as far as he can tell. But anyway, letting his wolf out of its slumber isn't a option.

Derek has no way to know if Peter's Alpha status can reach all the way to him, since they're not really Pack, but he has no intention to try and find out. Surely, with the number of aspirin he's swallowing per hour, he can be functional enough until the day ends.

And then, he's off home to sleep all evening and night. And he'll knock Peter out if he has to, but for once, the man'll keep his mouth _shut_.

Derek rises with a wince for his throbbing skull and heads for the locker room. He has about ten minutes left to shower quickly, jump into his clothes, and run to his next...He stops dead in the middle of the field, tension suddenly locking his muscles on themselves. He's being watched. He's certain of it, utterly certain – he feels it in the tingling at the back of his neck, in the drowned but not quite-asleep instinct of a predator. He slowly turns to scan his surroundings: an empty basket ball field and bleachers.

He frowns. Was he mistaken? In his state, it's possible, of course, but still, he thought... “Derek. I believe we need to talk”. The voice has resonated, right behind him, and Derek whirls round, almost crashing on his face when the move makes everything tilt dangerously.

Black skin, leather jacket, and the smell of mountain ash, still here even with an human's poor sense of smell.

 _Deaton_.

***

Derek follows the vet through the school's corridors, tense and terribly aware of how vulnerable he is.

He carefully reaches behind him for the reassuring shape of the knife in his back pocket. He has taken to carry it with him since Jen's attack, even if a part of him scoff at the idea – he's a God-damned werewolf, he should have no need for a knife.

He should have claws and fangs and heightened senses. These are his weapons, what he was born with – it's who he should be. Who he would be, if it wasn't for Peter and the fact that he's fucking _cracked in the head_ and ready to commit mass-murder.

 _Wouldn't be the first time_ , the cynical part of Derek snickers, and he closes his eyes, pushing the thought away. He can't be angry against Peter, not now. Now when Deaton is probably going to ask Derek where he is.

He needs to gather his wits as much as he can, and to protect Peter – no slips, no hesitations. Nothing.

He'll give the Emissary absolutely nothing to catch on.

***

They take one last turn, and Derek stares at the golden plate stuck on the office door for a long second before he finds his tongue and rises an unimpressed eyebrow in Deaton's direction. “The school counselor? Is that your idea of a joke?”

Deaton knocks on the door without deigning to glance at him, and Derek feels unease stir in his stomach. Wit and jokes asides, he doubt the vet brought him here by mistake, and that mean that either the counselor is on par with him, or he's turning a blind eye. Neither option look very good, and Derek's lips thin. If he gets in there, he'll be locked-in and probably outnumbered while his ability to defend himself is badly diminished – it's a trap, and a rather obvious one.

He imperceptibly steps back, readying himself to run – or maybe even to free his wolf. He survived Hunters and two weeks with his now-sociopath of a lover, he's not gonna end quietly murdered on the school ground by a good damned _veterinarian_ , of all people.

If only because Peter will kneel over and die laughing when he'll learn of it.

His hand goes to his pocket, and he quickly slips his still closed knife in his sleeve. He's not an expert, but he has good reflexes, and he has actually been training with the weapon – he's not top-notch by any means, but he sure knows how to use it and not hurt himself in the bargain. It's not his first kills either, and if he has to maim and slash his way out of the school...well, too bad for the fools who stand in his way, be it Deaton or anybody else. Derek passed the stage of the gnawing survivor guilt about a two years prior.

“Get in”, Deaton says, and it sounds more like an order than a demand. Derek feels his hackles rise, as always in front of somebody trying to force him into anything, and he doesn't bother to hide his snarl as he retorts, “Why?”.

Deaton sighs. “Derek, I just want to talk. But the corridor doesn't seem a good place to do that, so...”. Derek steps back in earnest this time, out of grabbing range. “Funny”, he cuts through the man's words with a sneer. “Because I happen to find this corridor particularly nice. So why don't we have this chat of yours here?”.

He tilts his head, an unpleasant smile floating on his lips. “Your friend the counselor can even get from behind the row of lockers and join us”. Deaton looks at him, anger flashing on his face for a second before his impassiveness returns, and he nods curtly.

“As you wish, then. As I said, I only want to talk. If you'd rather do it standing...Morrell?”. The counselor steps from his...oh. Okay. Derek's eyebrows rise slightly, but he quickly get himself back under control. Woman or man, it makes no difference in the end. So, _she_ steps away from her hiding place and takes up a nonchalant position at Derek's left, in almost exact parallel to Deaton on Derek's right. Just want to talk, my ass. He's being boxed in the corridor – it may be without violence (yet), but they're trying to cut off his escape roads.

Derek resists the urge to step back again, and instead plants his feet in and rises his chin. “What do you want?”. He's addressing Deaton, since he doesn't know the woman – from the way she acts, he can say for sure that she's in the supernatural business, but as to what she is exactly...

From what he saw, she isn't wearing weapons, but bulges under clothing are only an indicator of large guns or knifes. You can easily conceal thin throwing knifes - or, more to the point, ash or wolfsbane powder - under tight garments. He sincerely doubts she's one of his kin, so Hunter or Witch. 

Or maybe another Emissary, but that would be weird because Emissaries generally stay close to their Packs – they live in the same town more often than not, and BC can be as much as considered as the Hales'. But anyway, Deaton trusts her enough to place her on the path of a werewolf.

So, she's definitely _something_. A very possibly dangerous something. _Tss...We only need Alexander to join in, and the party will be full-swing_. Derek inwardly spits a string of curses. Getting out of this situation is going to be very delicate, especially when the two of them will understand that Derek has no intention of cooperating.

“You know what I want” Deaton says, bringing Derek's attention on him. “I warned you. I don't appreciate being played – I told you I'd find you at the slightest occurrence of strange disappearances or murders”. The Emissary's voice is ominous and stone-like, no a hint of warmth in his face.

The threat is here, even unspoken, and it's dead serious. Derek swallows but show his teeth in defiance, a ingrained reflex even with his wolf cut-off. “There wasn't any mysterious disappearances as far as I'm aware – Peter is simply...in a place with better protection, away from persons with murdering or ill intent”.

Derek looks pointedly at Deaton and the woman – Morrell, if memory serves - before he adds, more coldly, “And about murders, I fear I don't know what you're talking about”. Deaton shakes his head. “Derek”, he says slowly, “I don't want to hurt you, but I cannot let your uncle roam the town like this”.

The Emissary steps forwards and grabs Derek's arm to give it a shake. “I admire your loyalty, but he's _dangerous_! Crazed and rogue, without any conscience left!”. Deaton looks at him like he can push his words into Derek and make him agree. “He killed his nurse, beat her to death and broke her skull”.

Derek looks back without a hint of emotion. “No”, he finally answers. “He didn't, because he couldn't then, and, no matter what others murders you want to pin on him, he can't now either”. Deaton opens his mouth, but Derek is faster. “I'm not a fool, nor an imbecile” he hisses, temper flaring despite himself. “He's restrained behind mountain ash – it can't be him”. Well and so, since probably all the murders of the last three years in BC are of Derek's hand, but the vet doesn't know this bit.

Now if only Deaton could simply believe him and let it go...

“I don't believe you”. Yeah, right. So much for Derek's hope. He lets out an exasperated sound and rips his arm from the elder man's grip. “I tell you, it's not him, Dammit! Why don't you look around the Hunters if you want crazed psychopaths so badly?” .

The defense is weak, and Derek evidently frayed temper isn't helping his credibility, but really, what is it with people pinning every drop of blood out there on Peter's back? Yes, he has changed to a sociopath asshole, and yes, he would gladly start a bloodbath in town. But he's _not_. “The Hunters”, Deaton retorts calmly, “have a Code. They have a Code”, he continues without seemingly taking notice of Derek's incredulous stare, “and they stand by it – any member who...”. 

But Derek's ears are buzzing with rage and indignation. “Oh, sorry”, he spits furiously. “I wasn't aware that burning my house down along with my younger brothers, or, for that matter, trying to kill a comatose man, answered to the motto _'We Hunt whose who Hunt us_ '”. Derek lips twist into a contemptuous sneer.

“I'll apologize for the misunderstanding the next time I'll see a Hunter, swear on my heart”. He bows mockingly, brimming with disgust and hatred at the man. Any respect he could have for Deaton just got shattered in thousand irrecoverable pieces.

The Emissary seems to feel it, too, because he steps back, like he wants to calm Derek by giving him more space. “It's not what I mean and you know it” he says gently, probably aiming for soothing and failing miserably. “My point was simply that the Hunters kill for a reason – and more, they don't kill humans”.

Deaton spreads his hands slightly, like he's admitting his ignorance. “Peter always has been ruthless, and he never hesitated to leave a trail of blood in his wake to obtain what he wanted. To him, the end always justify the means, and I don't doubt he would have killed Jennifer Mayers if she had stood between him and freedom”.

He looks at Derek with the keen appraisal of somebody who believe they just won an argument. “Can you fault my reasoning?”. 

Derek resist the urge to punch him in the face, and articulates very carefully, readying himself to fight. “I don't care. You and your acolyte over here, what you think of Peter or of me, what you want...I _don't give a shit_ , do you understand that? I'm on my own, I always have been, so don't expect me to play for the team and discuss the philosophy of murder between friends”. 

Derek steps forwards, eyes flashing. “And now get _out_ of my way”, he adds with an icy calm he didn't now he could muster – he strangely sounds like Peter at his own ears, not hot and racing, but with the perfect mix of disdain and dangerousness in his voice.

The exact pitch you need to be taken seriously. And Deaton takes it seriously indeed: he rotates his wrist in an almost imperceptible motion, and a sliver stake falls into his palm, poised to strike. At his left, the woman moves as well, hand plunging into her pocket to grab a vial.

Derek jumps backwards, ducking on the side at the same time, a twisted, impossible move that makes his human muscles lance painfully, but it gets him the result he hoped for – the ash circle closes around empty air. Derek ends his evasive roll unstopped, managing to face Deaton as he rises back to his feet. “Just to talk, huh”, he snorts mockingly. 

Deaton's eyes narrow, and he falls into a easy fighting stance. “There's no need for this, Derek. I told you, I just...”. Derek's patience comes to an abrupt end, and he feels his wolf stir in answer to the adrenalin coursing though his veins. He hesitates for a heartbeat, but in the end it's not a choice at all: he'd face Peter's wrath twice over without hesitation rather than get caught by a enemy and forced to betray his lover. And besides, Derek muses as he looks Deaton's guard, the man visibly knows his business around this stake-wielding of his.

His poor, badly-trained knife skills are probably no match – well, to a point. The greatest force of knife fighting is its incredible adaptability. You can slash anywhere on your opponent, change hands if need be, and each second you last is one more second while your adversary slowly bleeds out.

Even without hitting vital areas, a knife wound that goes deep enough is an undeniable impairment on your aggressor – especially on legs or arms, where the maiming add to blood loss. The biggest risk in knife fight is to hurt yourself on the blade if you're not proficient enough.

And Derek is, a the very least. Good enough to bring down an opponent without ending up sliced to ribbons himself. At least, an opponent of his level. Deaton...Deaton is another level altogether, and Derek learned nothing more in these last years than to recognize an enemy outclassing him.

In retrospective, it should probably be depressing, how much people had been so much stronger, so much better fighters than him – but when the end comes, Derek is the one left standing. And, more importantly, the one who wins. The Hunters, Logan, Jen, Alexander. Peter, even, in a way. He managed to get the upper hand on them all, may it be by killing or outwitting – not without sacrifices, not without paying a price. But still. He didn't survive that long to get killed here, by a puffed-up Emissary who decided that he can't stand Peter.

So he has no illusions on his chances against Deaton in a real fight – but Derek hasn't played fair since the fire, and he has no claim in keeping the strategy up and going. Using his Gift could be a nice way to put an end on this, but Derek doesn't want too much people to know about it.

A secret only stay so as long as you keep it silent, and the fact that both the Hales and Alexander know about it is largely enough for Derek's taste. Peter, he doesn't mind, but the others...Yeah, not so keen on adding people to the “The Ones who Know” list. It's already too long as it is. So, no Gift, at least not in view of Deaton and Morrell. Which means he needs to get past one of the two and shake them loose before he can get to Peter. What he'll do once here...well. He'll see. 

Derek slowly steps towards Deaton - Morrell, he noticed, doesn't seem too ready to get in the fight, but she put an ash line across her part of the corridor, effectively baring the way. He shakes his knife loose, opening it with a swift flick of the wrist, and sees puzzlement cross Deaton's face for a brief second.

He uses it to dart forwards, aiming at Deaton's forearm, intent on cutting the fragile tendons in the wrist. The Emissary starts but falls back in a perfect guard less than a second later, parrying Derek's move with a facility that would have been insulting if Derek had even intended his attack to hit. As it is, he lets his wolf free the second their blades clash, and the result is beyond his hopes. _Cage a wolf long enough and he'll become more rogue and crazy than you can imagine_ , says a well-known proverb in the werewolf community. 

It's, for all intent and purpose, exactly what Derek has been doing for about a week now, and just like any wild animal recovering his freedom, his wolf surges over without hesitation or gentleness – just the savage, unstoppable instinct of fleeing and tearing everything standing on his way; namely, Deaton.

What was a contest of mostly equal strength, blade against blade, suddenly turns into Derek crashing into the Emissary, elongated fangs snapping inches from the man's throat and claws shredding anywhere they can reach, tearing flesh apart mercilessly. Derek isn't bothering to reign his instinct in, maintaining just enough control to keep a clear head.

But he lets the way of wolves wash over him – the way they fight, the way they hear and smell, senses on alert for their surrounding even with their attention on something else. For his wolf, Deaton is enemy and danger and jailer – a sentiment that Derek shares wholeheartedly. But the human part of himself sees beyond the immediate present, anticipate over the fact that the counselor is still here and that she's not going to stay put while he rips the man to shreds.

That, added to his now terribly keen senses, warn him in time of the displacement of the air and the whistling sound accompanying it – the human takes over once again to force the wolf into releasing its prey to duck the knife flying at his neck. Derek rolls backwards, letting the blade sink harmlessly in the wall, quivering for a second. He smells wolfsbane as it passes him by, and understands that getting hit is not only danger but that it means failure and possible death. He snarls, but the realization has taken the human part to the forefront once again.

He doesn't hesitate a second – he whirls round and takes off at full speed, diving at the corridor's angle when he hears a second knife coming at him. The flat, thin piece of metal embeds itself about half a meter above his head, and once again, the acidic smell of wolfsbane hits his nose.

He grimaces at the discomfort – with the way the scent seems to burn its way into his throat at each inspiration, it must be a very high dosage solution – but doesn't stop his escape. He got Deaton by surprise and sheer force – the force of an instinct-driven, madly furious predator.

It won't work twice. He needs to get out of here, now. His wolf's hearing can still detect the Emissary's words, which means that they're moving as well – coming after him. And this time, they won't show mercy or manners. This time, it will be to bring him down – whether to kill him or capture him, it doesn't change much.

Taken is taken, and losing is losing. And if Derek is taken, then it means Peter will stay trapped at the house, sitting duck for any Hunter coming by. No. No way. He needs to get away, but before he can do that, he needs...He finally catches the trail and puts one last burst of speed in his run before stopping in front of the gymnasium.

He forces his features back to human and gets in, respiration calm and regular, without a hint of tiredness. His lungs have cleared already, as has his headache – just as he hoped, the stress of the situation kick-started his healing. He slips between the rare players still in the locker room almost unnoticed, steps lights and keeping to the shadows.

As he expected, Brian is alone on the field, ducking invisible opponents and scoring basket after basket, headless of the late hour. The Captain uses any free time he has to train, everybody on the team knows that, and at the moment, it's a chance for Derek.

He had intended to come at Brian step by step, slowly convince him to help by gentle pushing and prodding and guilt-calling. The current situation isn't made for diplomacy, however, and Derek is in the middle of the field in a second, catching the basket ball on the fly before sending it right into its crate.

“What the fuck, Derek?”. Brian's reaction is as explosive as Derek expected, and the other teen marches on him with a murderous expression. “What the hell do you think you doi...”. That's as far as he goes, because Derek slaps a hand on his mouth, effectively cutting off any protestation. 

“I'm sorry, truly” he says quickly. “I didn't mean to drag you into this like that, but I don't have much of a choice at the moment”. He takes a breath and feels his Gift uncoil in his chest like a lazy, half-asleep snake.

He closes a hand around Brian's wrist. “Take a deep breath”, he advises. “I promise it's safe, no matter what it feels like”. Brian stares at him, eyes wide, and his reflection is crystal clear in his face – he thinks Derek has finally cracked. 

An ironic smile twists his lips. Between the number of persons trying to kill him, he'd be fucking entitled if he ever turned into a rogue, paranoid mess. But it's not for today yet, he thinks as he closes his eyes. He needs all of his wits about him still.

They vanish with a shimmer of air.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And onwards to chapter 9!  
> Enjoy!

The second they appear, Brian pushes Derek away and steps quickly on the side – the sheer instinct to run away at full swing, which would worry Derek a lot more if Brian wasn't white as a sheet stumbling like a drunken man.

Derek winces in sympathy – he had no choice, not considering the situation, and he hadn't stopped to consider the effects of teleportation on humans. The ones he teleported where either wolves or Hunters. The firsts have healing, and he intended to kill the seconds anyway. But he never had the occasion to transport an human with the intent of bringing them to his intended destination alive and safe. By looking at Brian's face, it seems that it's rather a bad idea altogether.

Derek debates the possibility of going and trying to reassure his friend, but he doubts Brian would take kindly to his presence right now. And besides...there's Peter to take care of. The Alpha has risen the second they materialized, but he hasn't tried to overpower Derek yet.

Red eyes glowing almost softly, he seems disposed to wait for an explanation rather than to mentally jump either on Brian or his nephew – a surprise, but again Peter is clever: he knows Derek wouldn't have taken the risk of shifting back without a good reason. So Derek decides to take care of first things first; he has no time to lose in apologies. He rises his eyes to Peter's and states calmly, “Deaton and a friend of his are on my trail, and therefore, on yours. We need to get you out”.

Peter's lips stretch into a smirk that he's not even trying to hide, and Derek braces himself for a jibe, but his lover's expression quickly turns more serious as he tilts his head to appraise Brian. “I suppose it's the reason of his presence?”.

Derek nods. “Yeah. I...didn't want to spring on him like that, but...”. He suddenly realizes who he's talking to, and he bites his lips, furious with himself. What's wrong with him, to suddenly confide in Peter like this? The older man may be calm for the moment, but just like Alexander, his hatred his burning just under the surface. Hatred of Hunters, but also, without a doubt, hatred of Derek. He cannot forget that – he _should_ not forget that, not for an instant. Peter certainly hasn't forgiven him for what he sees as a betrayal, and he'll turn on Derek sooner or later.

Not matter how much he wants to, he cannot trust him. Not now, and maybe not ever again – the man tried to kill him without remorse, and he'll probably try again when given the chance. Derek cannot let his guard down, not for a second.

“Well?”. Derek's head snaps up, and he finds Peter looking at him expectantly. “From the way you came in, I infer we don't have much time to play nice, so what about you make him do what you bring him to do? Unless”, and Peter's smile grows fangs, “you'd prefer I take care of that?”.

 _Never. Stay the fuck away from him_ , Derek wants to hiss, but he's not fool enough to show his fear or worry over Brian – it would only encourage Peter to use him as a way to get at Derek. So he shrugs. “Not yet. I'll give it a try. But if he refuses...” And he means it, too. Derek's...well, maybe not survival, because Deaton didn't really try to kill him, but at the very least _Peter_ 's survival is at stake, without a doubt. The Emissary was very clear about his intention of hunting and putting his lover down. They need to get the fuck away, and fast.

If Brian doesn't cooperate...well. Derek has already thrown his own family to the proverbial wolves when he killed Logan. He's ready to do it again if must be, no matter how disgusted with himself it makes him – because nobody will protect him if he doesn't protect himself at any cost.

And Peter – Peter certainly doesn't need Derek as bodyguard, but somebody has to protect him from his own madness, and the consequences of it. Derek isn't sure if Peter truly realizes how many enemies he has already, and how many more will want his head if he does as he intends. Alpha and Gifted...and yet, the sheer number will bring him down in the end. Just like they would get Derek despite his uncanny ability to get out of danger. Like it or no, they're tied together, at least until they leave the town.

Which implies an agreement from Peter, but...okay. Derek closes his eyes. One problem after another – trying to play on every front will only get him killed faster. So, Peter out, Brian...well, knocked out, he supposes, and then leave. For the rest, it'll be improvisation on the way.

Derek nods determinedly to himself and turns towards Brian. The young man is still unhealthy pale, face drawn and body tense. He has stepped back as far as the high window besides the bookshelf, pressed against the wall, and his eyes go from Derek to Peter, and return, again and again. It's like he doesn't know which one is the biggest threat, and Derek lets out a sigh. He walks forwards slowly, hands in view and face fully human, the same way you'd approach a cornered animal. 

Brian's eyes snap to him, and he flattens himself even more against the wall, if possible.The other teen's eyes stay towards the window, like he's considering throwing himself through it, and Derek promptly stops his approach. Jumping out the window would bring Brian absolutely nothing except several glass wounds, and it certainly wouldn't keep Derek from catching him once more.

And they don't have time for this. Derek swallows. One try. It's all he can give his old friend before he asks Peter to take care of it. “Brian”, he starts calmly, gently. “Please, there's no need for panic. I don't want to hurt you in any way”.

Brian's lips thin. “Easy for you to say. You brought me here against my will, and he...”. Brian's voice dies as he jerks his head towards Peter, and he shivers visibly. Derek half-turns to glare something evil at his lover, who seems to have way to much fun – his grin shows far more teeth than necessary.

“Now, now. I'm deeply hurt”. Derek curses silently, and once more, regrets his inability to punch Peter in the face and get him to shut his mouth. Isn't the situation delicate enough? “I'm not that bad, am I? Of course, the burns are a bit of a turn-off, I'll give you that”.Peter steps at the barrier's limit, and his eyes flare a brighter red than ever. “But in all honesty, I find my new eye color absolutely _dashing_. Don't you agree?”. 

Brian emits a low, terrified sound, staring at Peter like he's something out of a nightmare, and frankly, Derek understands the sentiment. “Peter, for God's sake, shut _up_!” he snaps grimly as he steps between the two. He hears the Alpha chuckle darkly, and he quickly starts to talk before Peter beats him to it and makes the situation go from worse to finally beyond repair – if it's still salvageable as it is.

Derek decides to go straight to the goal. “Okay, look, here's the deal: I need you to break the line on the ground over here”. He gestures ate the ash impatiently. “With your hand, your foot...It doesn't matter – just push the powder on the side to break the circle. It's all I ask”.

Brian stares at him for a long second. He doesn't even as much as glance at the ash, and Derek knows the answer isn't going to please him in any way. When his old friend starts, he's not surprised by the anger in his voice instead of the fear. Brian has a temper more often than not. Especially when he's afraid by something. “That's _all_? Are you fucking kidding me? You bring me here, without giving a shit about what I say about it, with... _him_ ,” He gestures angrily in Peter's direction, “and now you want me to play servant? Fuck you, you son of a...”.

Derek, who'd had been looking at the ceiling and waiting for the end of the diatribe, reports his attention on Brian as his voice suddenly cuts off. At first, he believes it's just that the young human has realized that insulting and angering the two supernatural creatures in front of him is a dangerous course of action. 

He quickly understands it's not that at all. Brian hasn't only stopped talking, he has stopped moving altogether, eyes dead and expression vacant. “ _God dammit, Peter_ ”, Derek roars as he whirls rounds on his lover. “I told you I'd try first, why did you...”. Peter's raised eyebrow manages to convey his disdain of Derek and an utter indifference for his protestations at the same time. 

“He was loud, annoying and, more importantly, he was making us lose time”, the Alpha retorts with supreme contempt. “Something that, as you remarked earlier, we don't have”. Derek opens his mouth, but finally turns away without a word. Peter is undoubtedly right, but still...treating people like tools to use always leaves him with a bitter aftertaste in his throat.

His silence seems to exasperate Peter enough that there's a hint of irritation in his normally bland (or mocking) tone. “For the love of God, don't go all guilty on me now. He was never going to accept, and you knew it the second you brought him here. At least you can say you tried for about five minutes, so you can have a clear conscience”.

The voice is right behind him now, and Derek turns around wearily to meet Peter's red eyes. “Yeah, hurray”. He sighs, suddenly fed up with trying go on par with the elder man. “Look, whatever. I'm a drip, a bleeding soul, you have nothing but scorn for me, blah, blah, blah. I bow to your oh-so superior judgment”.

Peter tilts his head, and the hint of a smile passes on his face. “My, my. What a restrain. I'm impressed, truly – unless you just can't come back with a suitable retort?”. Derek lets the jibe pass with a shake of head and continues. “As you said, we don't have much time. So, go ahead. Since we're here. Use him”.

He wants to close his eyes, but he forces himself to watch every second as Brian lifts his head and walks forwards to crouch besides the circle. It looks remarkably natural, motions supple and relaxed – if it wasn't for his empty eyes, you could believe the young man is moving of his own volition.

In fact, Derek is almost certain that the vacant expression is Peter's way to bother him – to remind him of what he's doing as keenly as possible. When his lover had taken over the barman all these years ago in the nightclub, the man had keep a perfectly jovial face; Brian's, however...it's a jibe, one more, just for the pleasure of hitting where it hurts. Derek snorts quietly. Survival is something he'll never, ever will feel guilty over, no matter how hard Peter tries – he keeps looking at Brian coolly as the young man brushes the ash aside, effectively breaking the circle in one swift move.

Derek shifts his weight carefully, ready to jump and get Brian out of harm's way if Peter decides that summarily kill him off is a good idea, but it doesn't happen. Brian turns away and docilely goes sit on the armchair, face blank. His eyes roll in the back of his head less than a second later.

Derek weights his options before moving quickly to Brian's side, running a quick check of vitals – pulse and fever, mostly, but his friend seems to be all right. Just deeply asleep, but he groans in low protest when Derek pinches him, so it must be fine. He hopes. He rises from his hunkered position, only to met Peter's ironic eyes across the room. “Reassured?”. Derek smiles coldly in answer. “That he hasn't dropped dead?”, he retorts acidly. “Very. Even if I'm surprised. I thought mass-murder was on the program?”.

Peter's eyes narrow dangerously. “Do you want me to start now? It can be arranged easily enough”. He steps forwards, still looking disturbingly amused by the whole exchange, and Derek mentally curses his big mouth as he moves in his lover's path with a warning snarl.

“Do you want me to leave you here to rot for the Hunters?”. He volleys it right back with a inquisitive, nonchalantly raised eyebrow, and Peter's smile grows fangs in answer. “Oh, I don't think you have the guts to do that, Derek. Not after protecting me for three long years. Not after killing in my name”. 

Peter sounds terribly sure oh his fact, so certain that Derek will never turn away... _Arrogant son of a bitch_. “You're wrong”, Derek hisses, and he feels all his pent-up old anger stir close to the surface. “You have no idea what I feel for you right now, no idea what...”.

Derek closes his eyes a second, takes a breath. “I _loved_ you, you have no idea how much I...Maybe I still love you. I don't even know. But I _know_ that the man I fought to protect wasn't a sociopathic bastard. Don't presume to know what I would and wouldn't do”, he ends fiercely. “Not when you tried to kill me in cold blood”.

Peter looks back at him, still as calm, still as poised, but he finally nods curtly, and his expression has gone from amused to terribly cold. “Very well”, he finally says. “Consider your warning duly acknowledged”. It could be mocking, but it's terribly serious – Peter's face has completely closed-off, and Derek suddenly wonders if he shouldn't have kept silent.

He's not sure what it was he said, but there's something that Peter took rather badly. He sighs and toys with the idea of trying to rekindle the conversation for a second before rejecting it with a decisive shake of head. Angry or no, he meant every word.

And now is not the time for a big explanation anyway. The whole goal of the situation is to get away, not to have an explosive argument in the middle of the house. He takes Brian's wrist, and extends a hand towards Peter. “Are you coming, or not?”.

His lover fixes his hand with a long, almost suspicious look, and Derek rolls his eyes. “Either come or don't. But I'm not staying here for all the Hunters or Emissaries to fall upon”. He rises his chin and met Peter's red eyes dead on. “Or do you prefer take your chance alone?”.

It's a challenge and a question at the same time – the question Derek hasn't asked when he put Peter behind the ash against his lover's will. He didn't have any intention of letting Peter go to murder everyone he could find, but now that his lover is out...It's different from trying to keep Peter from killing indiscriminately. Everybody should have the right to choose his way when it comes to survival – nobody should force you to run if you want to fight, or vice-versa. If Peter wants to try an escape on his own...Derek won't try to oppose him.

Oh, he'll chase him down later, without a doubt. He'll spend the necessary time on it, but he'll find Peter again, and he'll try once again to protect him. It's the last he owes the man for what he did when Derek was younger. And besides...besides, Peter was right earlier: Derek loves him too much to give up on him.

“Would you let me?”. Peter's question draws Derek back to the current situation. He can't help his smile – Peter sounded like he severely doubted the possibility. “I would catch up with you in the end – as you said, I'm too stubborn for my own good. But yes”. The young man steps forwards until he's standing two paces away from Peter, closer than they've ever been in three years.“If that's really what you want, then yes. I'll bring Brian back home, and then I'll teleport you where you wish”.

Derek's heartbeat has stayed steady, and he sees honest surprise cross Peter's face. “You put me in a cage for weeks because you didn't wanted to let me go”, he points out darkly.

Derek swallows. “Yes”, he finally admits. “But it wasn't the same – I wanted to keep you from doing something both crazy and dangerous. I still do, and that's why I tell you I'll be on you trail like a Goddamn bloodhound if I have to”. He sighs. “But this...this is a fight to the death if you're caught. It's survival – and all is fair in survival”. He smiles thinly, harsh and mirthless. “I learned it enough in three years. If you want to try alone, I won't begrudge you for taking what you think to be your best shoot”.

The silent falls on them once more, heavy and tense. Peter is looking at Derek, searching his face for something that Derek doesn't know how to give. A part of him wants to grab Peter and never let go again, want to ask Peter to stay, but it would bring them back right into the proverbial ash barrier stalemate.

Maybe it's time he respects Peter's wishes, at least on this matter.

Derek holds Peter's gaze, staring right back without animosity, but refusing to back down all the same. It's like they spend an eternity like this, bloody red against neon blue, minutes stretching to a slow, careful crawl, like any too-quick movement will shatter everything they're tentatively trying to rebuild.

And then Peter finally nods. “Alright”, he says. “Grab him, then”. Derek blinks, momentarily startled by his lover sudden change of heart – he truly believed that this would be the tipping point where Peter would bow out.He's not stupid enough to try his luck, however, so he doesn't ask for reasons, just blindly fumbles for Brian's slack arm before extending his hand once more.

This time, Peter takes it, and Derek is aware it's only a strategic choice, that they're far from having forgiven each other.

Still, his lover's scarred palm seems comfortingly, impossibly warm.

***

They appear in Brian's room without a sound.

Touching Peter as he is, Derek feels the sudden wave of radiant warm emanating from his lover, like the aura of molten, overheated steel. It lasts barely a second before vanishing, and Peter presses close to murmur at Derek's ear. “Father absent, mother in front of the TV – she's half dozing off. But the sister is in the room right besides this one, and she's brooding in silence – something about boyfriends being assholes. A tale she'd love to tell to her big brother”.

Derek nods in acknowledgment of the warning, grudgingly impressed. He didn't thought about Peter's Gift as a potential mean of information, but it's an excellent source, when you think about it. Derek's superior senses would have told him the location of the house members, maybe their general emotional state. But what better to predict a person's exact behavior than to be in their head? Like the part about Anna wanting to speak to Brian, and therefore the possibility of her coming in. Derek could have heard it too late, while Peter will know the second she decides to move if she does.

He feels a shiver slid up his back – he still despises his Father's reaction to Peter's Gift, always have, but he can understand it. Especially now that Peter's morals seem to have taken a turn for the worse. Let's just say he's happy to be a werewolf.

He lifts Brian up without batting an eye and puts him on the bed. He hasn't stirred, and Derek knows without being told that he won't move until Peter allows it. The thought calls another, and Derek hesitates before turning to his lover. “Could you erase his memories, or at least temper with it?”. Normally, the Hunters or Deaton don't have any way to know of Brian's involvement – there was no cameras, and Derek's teleportation allowed them to dodge the town. But if he's ever questioned, Derek prefers for his friend to truly not know anything.

He cannot be sure of Brian's loyalty anymore, not after what happened, and he yet couldn't be mad against his friend if he sold them off. So better that he just forgets the whole thing altogether. It covers their tracks and assure a perfect discretion.

Peter tilts his head. “Oh, it's done already”, he says with a quick wave of hand to dismiss the query. “I'm surprised that you'd ask, however”, he adds a beat later, a malicious flame beginning to dance in his eyes. “I thought you wanted me to leave him alone?”.

Derek's answering smile is wry. “Each his turn”, he simply retorts, and leaves it at that. Trying to explain himself to Peter will only lead to either an argument or an exchange of jabs – if it's not both. Instead, he extends his hand again.

Peter's eyebrows rise slightly. “Three teleportations in succession, and with passengers to boot”, he says, and he's not hiding the impressed note in his voice. He slides his hand into Derek's once more, his touch like a caress. “I'm most definitely surprised, indeed”, he whispers as they disappear, and Derek doesn't know if he was meant to hear. 

Nor does he knows whether it's a compliment or just an acknowledgment of how much of a threat he can be. Admiration and wariness alike, a mix of opposite yet well-suited sentiments – maybe it's both.

God knows Derek himself thinks it often enough about Peter.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is chapter 10, as always betaed by EL! 
> 
> Enjoy (and don't hate me too much at the end)!

Materialization after a teleportation is, in practice, a barely second-long process, something swift and – if you're not human – perfectly painless, without any impact for your health.

Or so it is for his passengers, Derek supposes. For them it's just...boom, you're not there anymore, and then poof, suddenly you're somewhere else – and what Derek calls the the in-between, the pitch dark and utmost silence, lasts for maybe five seconds tops. Easy.

For Derek himself, it's different.

Especially with passengers. Back when he didn't master his Gift in any way, teleporting always felt like having to push and tear trough the dark, like being caught in a net of some kind, something that grabs at you and doesn't let go. Like you're drowning in a sea of darkness, and must fight for every meter before resurfacing – or in his case, reappearing.

With practice, it became a lot easier – like gliding through the dark as opposite to clawing in a blind panic. Of course, it still can be hard sometimes. Take both Peter and Brian, for example, forced him to fight a bit, even if it wasn't enough to truly wind him. But still, what is almost an nonexistent hop for his passengers feels a lot longer for Derek. Long enough that he can formulate a few thoughts if need be – and, at this instant, just before appearing with Peter in tow, Derek realizes that his lover didn't even ask where they were going. 

It's strange, and absolutely unlike Peter – especially considering that he should mistrust Derek after the last few weeks. After all, nothing proves that Derek isn't teleporting him right into another almost-formed ash circle, or another kind of trap. Being a survivor makes you more mistrustful that it's probably reasonable, Derek is well aware of it, and with Peter's newly found sociopathic tendencies...Nope. Something's definitely wrong. He should have seen it before, should have noticed it right away.

But having Peter so close is wrecking havoc on Derek's nerves and ideas both. As much as he's internally reminding himself of the threat the Alpha represents, there's always a part of him that just wants to close his eyes, stop, and simply sink into his lover's arms.

He's tired. Three years of fights and half-paranoia, for all it was necessary, left him terribly alone – at the time, when he was in the thick of things, it didn't matter. It's hard to worry about loneliness when you're trying to not get shot at by a Hunter. But now...The truth of the matter is, Peter certainly doesn't want him close, and if he leaves...Well. Derek has no-one else, it's as simple as that. He supposes it's pathetic, in a way, to get so madly attached to one person – and probably a flaring neon “go ahead and break my heart” kind of sign, too. 

And it leads him to wonder: does he truly has the right to force Peter into anything, even for his - supposedly – own good? His lover was furious over being caged, still is, and he had and has every right.

Is he just being selfish, wanting to keep Peter close, and covering it with apparently good and ethical reasons? Maybe, Derek thinks, heart in his throat, maybe he's just too afraid to let go – too much of a coward to shoulder the possibility of being truly alone. After all, he did it already, clutching to Peter like a drowning man when the Hales threw him out. He is just repeating the pattern? After all, what kind of love can he profess, if he cannot let Peter go if that's he wishes? _If you love someone_ , set them free, says the proverb, and it does make a sick kind of sense.

Except...whoever said that in the first place probably didn't have a lover ready to go on a killing spree in the name of vengeance. Because on this point he has no doubts: left to himself, Peter will kill, and somehow Derek don't think he'll have the time nor the will to be merciful to the unlucky people that will end in his way.

And there will be. The cops first, only doing their job. Or any passerby, for that matter, humans stupid or unfortunate enough to witness something they shouldn't. Then the Hales, especially considering that they have, for all intent and purpose, left Peter to burn, too afraid to try and come back for him. And even through Derek cannot say he truly love them anymore...The idea that Peter could consider them as collateral damage, unimportant enough to kill off if necessary just makes him wants to throw up.

Deaton and his friend the counselor will probably join the dance as well, and the Hunters will follow, but as for them, Derek doesn't exactly feel as nauseous. God knows why, it's so very strange. These ones, Derek has no problem with killing himself, and he's no hypocrite. But still. If he lets Peter go, how many innocent people will pay the price?

And yet...Yet they cannot keep going like this. If it's to keep Peter caged until the end of times, then it's nothing short of torture. Ugly, painful confinement that will only destroy them both even more than they're already are – and they're messed up more than enough as it is.

Derek feels the slight tingle in his chest that means they're going to materialize, and that brings him back into focus. He's lucky he cannot alter the direction of a teleportation once he started it: they could have easily ended in front of the police station with the way his thoughts have been drifting away. It's this sudden call back to reality that allows him to feel to barely-perceptible shuffle from Peter – they've been pressed a lot closer by the teleportation: it's like an irrepressible instinct for Derek to grip his passengers close; and it makes the trip slightly easier to boot.

So they're more or less tangled together, and it's the only thing that makes Derek feel the subtle tensing of Peter's muscles, his back contracting under Derek's fingers. It's not unlike the way animals draw up on themselves before attacking.

He knows what will happen when they arrive, and he pushes his lover back with all his strength and jumps backwards at the same time the second they appear. For all his lost weight, Peter is Alpha now, and a lot more solid on his feet – he regains his equilibrium in seconds, but it's too late. The slash meant for Derek's abdomen missed by almost a meter.

_Not a killing blow_ , a tiny part of Derek remarks. But it doesn't mean much – after all, why kill him when Peter can mind-wipe him or something akin to it? Derek may be unpredictable and volatile, he's still Gifted: a incredible skill that he now has an excellent command of. It makes him a piece of choice for an Alpha to have. He tenses, ready for a mental assault, but nothing comes, and he looks at Peter, completely thrown off – surely the man wants to at least make him helpless by forcing him to revert to human? 

But Peter isn't focusing on him at the moment; his eyes are swiftly running over the large, empty room, taking in everything. “So”, he finally says mildly at the end of his inspection. “No ash, no wolfsbane, no rowan. May I ask how you intend to keep me in?”. The tone is deceptively calm, but Derek can hear the tightness behind it. “Or”, and the Alpha's voice suddenly goes dangerously cold, “for that matter, how to keep me from gutting you on the spot?”.

Derek swallows – no ash, indeed, nor any other magic tricks. He didn't have time, nor any reason. He started searching for this place after Jen's killing attempt; it was meant for him – a place to hide and rest, out of his lover's view, when their war became too much. It was never meant for Peter. Never meant to handle an angry Alpha.

He mercilessly crushes the urge to step back, but nothing can keep his heartbeat from speeding up in alarm, betraying his fear. If they were one week prior, he could still believe that Peter isn't dangerous to him – to others, yes, without a doubt, but not to Derek, because his lover would never harm him. Sadly, the Jen trap threw that conception right out the window, and Derek is only too aware that Peter extreme ruthlessness applies to him as indiscriminately as to any other. So he can only bargain with what he has left: his guts and...

“You won't kill me”. He says it with as much assurance he can muster in the current situation, which isn't much, but soldiers on nonetheless. “I'm far too useful to you – I can give you instant access and escape to and from wherever you want, and a more than effective advantage of surprise on anyone you may want to sneak on”.

Peter huffs, an amused sound full of irony. “I see you learned to bargain as well as to plan”, he says wryly. “However, there is a point you overlooked to mention – very probably on purpose, and I don't begrudge you for it, since it doesn't exactly work in your favor”. The elder wolf tilts his head. “Tell me, how useful will you be to me considering you won't submit, won't obey my orders, probably throw yourself in my way to protect innocent right and left, and generally keep me from doing as I please?”.

“I...”. Derek lets out a sigh. Burned, Alpha and psychopath, but no fool. “I'll give you this one”, he finally admits with a defeated wince. What else can he do when Peter playing lie detector without even hiding? “But I...”. He stops again.

“You...?”, Peter prompts, and Derek bites his tongue. He...nothing – anything he'd say about not getting in Peter's way will be an outright lie, and he's sure that uttering one is the worst idea he could have at the moment. He decides to try something else.

“You said yourself there would be innocents involved”, he protests, daring to step towards his lover and trying to place his words so they reach him. “Peter, vengeance is one thing, and I get, I do, but...”. A savage snarl cuts through his words, and Derek falls silent, conscious that mouthing off won't help.

“ _Innocent?_ ”. Peter hisses the word like it's a curse, dripping venom and rage. “And what do you call an innocent?”. Derek frowns, unsure if the question was rhetoric or no, and not fool enough to try an hazardous answer with the Alpha as furious as he suddenly is. But Peter seems to have truly meant the query, because he rises an impatient eyebrow at Derek.

“Well...”. He takes a second to think it through, but if there's one, he cannot see the trap. “In this situation, then the innocents would be the ones not involved in the fire – the cops, the normal people...”. Peter's lips turn up in a dark smile, and knows he jumped blind into his lover's net.

“The normal people...by which I assume you mean the humans?”. Again, Peter pauses to allows Derek his answer, and he nods cautiously. “So human aren't capable of setting fires?”. The younger wolf stares, uncomprehending. “Well?”

“Yes”, he says with confusion. “I mean, yes, of course humans can set fires – anybody can set a fire, it's not a question of supernatural capacities or not”. He frowns. “And I said 'involved in the fire', so what the setting up or who can do it has to do with any of this?”.

“Everything”, Peter retorts darkly, but still with enough satisfaction in his voice that Derek knows the conversation is going exactly where the Alpha wants – which means there's a big chance it won't be very good for him. “Learn, _love_ , that setting a fire – and I mean a powerful fire – takes more than a few matches thrown here and there, in particular if you don't want to get caught”.

Derek scoffs. “Thanks, Sherlock”, he spits acidly – a bad idea, but the disdainful tone on the word 'love' raised his hackles right up. “Another evidence you want to share while we're at it, or can I go and leave you to your illuminations?”. The hand closing dangerously tight around his throat for that is not a surprise, except for the fact that Peter moved so fast he didn't even see it coming.

“Be _very_ careful with your words, my love”. Peter's voice is a low, almost gentle murmur against his ear. “I'm in no mood for you to play smart, I am clear?”. Derek shows his teeth in a painful but defiant sneer: he has no intention of turning into the Alpha's whipping boy, not even to save his skin.

“And I'm in no mood for you to play all superior on me because you have red eyes and you turned into a sorry excuse for psychopath”, he retorts coldly. “But you'll keep doing it, so apparently none of us will get what they want tonight”. He shrugs as much as he can. “What about you stop riling me up by being all disdainful and I stop snapping back?”.

Peter's eyes narrow, but he finally releases Derek slowly. “Compromise, huh?”. The elder man seems amused and bemused at the same time, but quickly shakes his head, letting the subject rest. “Very well, then, allow me to go right to the point: I doubt very much the Hunters would have the necessary experience of fire to start up an arson as efficient as they did. I think somebody helped them”.

Derek clears his throat. “Or maybe they just looked it up on Internet?”, he tries, and instantly raises his hands in a placating manner when Peter throws him a dark glance. “It's not me mouthing off. Seriously, think about it: you can find anything on the Net. What makes you believe they needed anybody else? Plus, ask someone means leaving a witness”.A pause. “I'm not a total moron”, he finally adds on front of Peter grudgingly impressed eyebrow, unable to keep the offended note from his voice. “I _did_ manage to keep the both of us alive for three years before you woke up all powered-up, you know”.

Peter nods, and there's a flash of something – apology? - on his face. Or maybe Derek is right into wistful thinking. It sounds more probable at any rate. “Indeed”, the Alpha admits easily enough. “I won't forget it again”. It's Derek's turn to rise an incredulous eyebrow: unless he turned completely delusional, this _was_ an apology, or as close to one as Peter is going to get.

Well. Between that and the fact that his throat or entrails are still in place, isn't the evening turning interesting?

“And yet”, Peter adds in a calm tone that still manage to convey his contempt even while being bland, “even after these three years, you stay blinded by black and white notions”. The Alpha clicks his tongue, visible exasperated. “They _burned me alive_ , Derek. What else do you need to know to condemn them?”.

Derek resists the urge to rub his temples. “Okay, first of all? I'm perfectly aware that there's many shades of gray, thanks. But this blindness you talk of? I call that having a conscience – remember, this little voice that occasionally keeps you from killing everyone around even if you want to? That would be it. I'm sure it's still buried in you somewhere”. Peter opens his mouth, eyes flashing, but this time Derek has had more than enough. “No, shut up, I'm not done”, he spits. “You wanted to know what I think or what I want? Well, open your ears because here we go”.

“First of all, I think you're sick, or at least far from your normal state. I think the coma and the pain made your hatred fester like an infected wound, and that the Alpha's status turned that into a thirst for revenge and power. And I can understand that. Because it's my second point, actually: I get it, okay?”

“I...what are you doing?”. Derek momentarily stops, arching a surprised eyebrow towards Peter who has sat down on one of the wooden crate lying around. Peter sends him back a glance that spells 'What do you think?”, crosses his legs and puts his chin on his fist. “Go ahead. You seemed to be rearing up for quite a diatribe. I'd hate to stop you short”.

Derek stares. “Actually I...well, I kind of expected you to have already slit my throat for that”. Peter's lips twitch in a sardonic smile, but he doesn't move, and Derek licks his lips incredulously, hesitant to push his luck. “Seriously, you're ready to listen?”.

It's Peter's turn to adopt a surprised expression. “When didn't I listen to you, Derek?”. He asks it calmly, almost reprovingly, head tilted like some kind of curious bird. “I always listened then, and from what I gathered in Jennifer's memory, you grew up more than enough in the past years for your opinion to be worth listening to now”.

Derek blinks, trying to gather his shaken wits in some resemblance of order. “Ok”. He says it cautiously, still half-expecting Peter to suddenly decide he's had enough, but when nothing happens, he nods determinedly – he doesn't know why the Alpha is giving him this chance, and maybe it won't change anything, but at least he's going to try.

He takes a deep breath. “I know hatred – I felt it, and I killed with it burning in my stomach. When I fought the Hunters, fought Logan...it was right here, coiled in may gut, urging me on. I know how easy it is to lose yourself in it, especially when you have a good reason to hate. Which you do. Of all people, I don't think there's anyone else that has as much of a right to hatred”. He searches Peter's eyes, and the older man meet and holds his gaze impassively. Impossible to say if any of Derek's words are getting through, or if he's just humoring his nephew. 

But again, why would he lose his time to listen to Derek's speech if it's for nothing? Even with the possibility of Peter wanting him in his Pack...he's Alpha and Gifted. He could bend Derek's will by force. But he's not, for some reason. And Derek will take the occasion, come hell or high water. “So, you want vengeance. Okay. But the problem, it's when you're ready to kill anyone in your way for it. Because the Hunters, Kate and company? I'm right behind you when it comes to slaughtering them”.

“But others? People who simply get in the way by mistake or bad luck...That's a line I won't cross”. Derek doesn't know where he finds the courage to step forward and grip Peter's arm, but he does, fingers closing tight around his lover forearm, like he can imprint the words into his skin. “Do understand me? I won't be part of that”. He articulates each words, voice steely and eyes hard. “You're right, I can't keep you from getting out of here, and I won't throw my life away stupidly by trying to stop you. You can go, and kill whoever you want – but you'll go alone ”.

Derek bites his tongue savagely again the horrible tightness of his throat, and steps back again, vision blurry but jaw set and chin raised high. “Maybe it means nothing to you anymore. Probably, since you tried to kill me. But that's my choice: if I can't stop you, then at least I won't get innocents' blood on my hands”. He suddenly rewinds his own words, and he can't help his mocking snort at his own assumptions. So he's getting himself out of the big game, and what? For all he knows, Peter will be more relived than anything to get rid of Derek at this stage. The way he has phrased that, it sounds like he expects Peter to drop everything just to make him stay.

It's ridiculous. Even if the other way around is probably rather true...whatever. It doesn't mean anything – what sacrifices Derek made, he made freely. Peter didn't ask for it, and doesn't owe him anything. Still, he can help but held his breath when Peter rises, red eyes detailing Derek carefully. “It's your last word?”.

_No_ , a part of Derek wants to say. _No, it's not, not if you show me you still love me enough to compromise. Just try. Please_. But Peter simply wait for his answer in perfect, icy silence, and Derek sets his jaw stubbornly. He means it – he turned into a killed to protect Peter, but he won't become a hitman for the Alpha to use as he pleases.

He paid his freedom and his loyalty a too high price to sell them out like this, even to keep the most precious relation he has.

“Yes”. He says it with a calm that surprises even himself, a confidence that seems to steam from somewhere and paint his voice with both challenge and assurance. “And you?”. Peter doesn't answer, Derek smiles wryly. “I didn't make you change you mind for a second, did I?”.

Peter smiles in turn, thin but true. “No. I fear not”. Derek scoffs and gives a dry, somewhat derisive nod. “So why did you let me talk in the first place?”. Peter smiles vanishes at that, and his expression grows serious and hard.

“I'm not the crazy killer you believe I turned into – yes, I live for vengeance, and I place it over anything else, even you, as you noticed. But I am aware of my debt, Derek. You saved my life dozen times over when I was in this coma, and I know from Jennifer that you were at my side every night. I owe you”. Peter's amused grin comes back. “So I figured I could endure through this speech of yours”.

Derek can't help the bark of dry laughter that escapes him. “So in fact” he sums up with a rueful, tired smirk,“you just let me talk away without any intention of listening?”. He's about to add that if he really wanted to pay his debt, Peter could as well have told him to not bother, but he has to admit it felt good to say all of that out loud. And anyway, Peter is suddenly there, right into his personal space, moving with graceful, unstoppable Alpha speed. 

“I told you”, he murmurs, and the red fades from his eyes to be replaced by earnest dark blue. “I always listen to you”. Peter's hand slips along Derek's arm, rising his sleeve up to get at the skin underneath, trailing gentle fingers on his bare forearm. After years alone, Peter's touch is like a drug, a terribly warm, heady drug, clouding Derek's mind like smoke. He presses closer with a shaking sigh, a hand lifting almost on his own to slip into his lover's hair and and tug until their lips meet – and the resulting kiss is nothing gentle.

No, it's heated and fierce, like their earlier battle of will must show even in an act of love. And it's fitting, in a way: they almost tore each other out, literally and figuratively, but when the end comes, they still love each other more than anything else.

So much that Derek made himself a killer, a liar and a traitor.

So much that Peter, who puts his vengeance above all else, is sparing Derek even through he knows the young wolf can be a terrible thorn in his side if he choose too.

Derek kisses Peter with all he is and all he has, conscious this is probably goodbye; Peter won't stop, and Derek won't follow: he hasn't much morals left these days, be what remains is what's keeping him from turning into a rogue. He's not abandoning them. He knows it, Peter knows it, and yet as their kiss ends, Peter frames Derek's face between his hands, looking him right in the eyes. “Come with me”. The demand is honest. No tricks, no Gift, no Alpha order – just a raw, urgent murmur.

But Derek gave his answer already, so he just presses his forehead to his lover's and lets out a shaking breath. “Would you be ready to compromise?”, he counters in a whisper, and there too, he knows the answer. They both do, to both queries. It wasn't to ask per se; no, it's a weird way to say something else, something that none of them can say out loud, not when they're standing in a face-off.

How could they utter it? Why say _I love you_ when you're going to walk away? They bruised and scarred their hearts on each other quite enough as it is, after all. 

No need to add more marks.

Peter steps back first, eyes flaring red like it's some kind of barrier between them. And it is, in a way, because this is the Alpha, the Peter who was ready to make Jen kill Derek to have his freedom, the Peter who decided to leave Derek behind because his vengeance matters more. And it makes it a lot easier for Derek to draw back as well.

He rises his chin, shoulders relaxed but straight, eyes glowing an icy blue: no defiance, but not a hint of submission either. The soldiers back behind their respective battle lines after a truce. “Do you...want a lift somewhere?”. Maybe it's just prolonging the heartbreak, but Derek made a promise, and he intends to hold it.

But Peter shakes his head. “No”, he says. “It won't be necessary, thank you. I'll manage on my own”. Derek nods slowly, reluctant to go – he needs only a thought, but he's feeling like his chest is being crushed to pieces. He steps back, aware that his eyes are probably glistering, and suddenly he doesn't want to be here anymore.

Doesn't want Peter to witness his tears. He calls on his Gift, feels it stir like a lazy cat in answer. “Be careful”, he manages to choke out around his constricted throat. If Peter answers anything, he doesn't hear it.

He vanishes, and the dark-in-between is the only witness of the tears finally spilling on his cheeks.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And chapter 11! I think I never wrote a chapter so long before...but inspiration always get its way in the end.
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Derek closes the heavy door behind him and morosely throws his bag on the mattress before following the same path. Going with Peter was out of question, but at least he would have stopped school.

With a sigh, he flips on his back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling for a second before getting up on an elbow, restless. He has came back to the place when he and Peter separated in the end. He has nowhere else to go, and no envy to pay for a motel room. And he's not in that much anyway. Mostly, it's just to sleep, and occasionally do his homework. 

And beyond that...well, it's the problem actually. Now that Peter is up, about and on the chase, Derek has nothing left to do. Nobody to guard and watch over. No fights, no kills, no runs. It was surprisingly fun the first week, once his hypervigilance had abated some. Now? It's just horribly, terribly boring. He itches with energy, with the urge to do something, anything, rather that wait here and literally throw himself on the newspaper every morning to know if Peter made a move – and he hasn't. 

No weird disappearances, no killing...Nada. And that? That puts him on edge even more. Of course, Peter is careful; he'd never be foolish enough to rush into anything if he's not ready. But...still, it's been almost three weeks. Frankly, Derek expected a pile of bodies to turn up – from his precise questions before they separated, he's almost certain Peter had names. Hunters, of course, but also human names.

Or so he thought, but nobody's dead yet, so...

Peter will strike. That's not in question. But as to when...he has a true admiration for his lover's ability to patience. If it was him...Derek shakes his head , cutting off the thought before it's fully formed. He left. It's not his concern anymore.

It's not.

With another sigh, he reaches out to open his bag. He has work to do. Harris', to be more precise, and as usual, that means an essay-length worth of homework. On the proprieties of magnets, of all things. Christ. He really, really ought to have ripped the man's head off. Seriously. 

At this point, it'd be a service to humanity.

***

Derek stares at Deputy Stilinski, searching his face for any signs of a bad joke – not that's there's much chance of that. “He what?” he finally hisses incredulously.

“Was found with his throat ripped out in his class room last night” the man repeats, watching his reaction carefully.” His body showed evident marks of torture as well”. Derek doesn't answer that, too busy pushing down the overwhelming urge to find Peter and punch him in the face.

Yes, Harris was an asshole of the highest order, but goddammit, of all the possible ways to kill him, do it on school grounds? Jesus. Derek just doesn't get it. The Hunters will come running, and considering where the murder happened, they'll jump straight at him, and Deaton will probably follow.

Fuck. Peter just made him a target. Even Stilinski is looking at him like he's expecting Derek to start cackling madly at any second now. He even caught Derek at the school entrance to “speak in private”, which is only the polite way to say he has questions. Great. Just...great. He sighs. “Alright. So, you wanted something else, or can I go? My classes are about to start”. A brief pause. “Sir”, Derek finally adds in afterthought. Stilinski rises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Derek's barely-there politeness.

“You don't seem too...upset that one of your professor was found murdered in an horrible manner”; The tone is carefully neutral, but there's no need to be a genius to decipher the true meaning. Derek briefly looks at the sky before locking eyes with the Deputy.

“No, Sir. I'm not especially upset – I saw my uncle burn alive”. The man winces at that, and has the grace to look rather uncomfortable. It crazy how much mentioning Peter, even in passing, make people flinch off his back. “So I guess you could say I'm kind of used to upsetting shi...things”.

He hesitates a second before adding, “I didn't like Harris, everybody will tell you that”. He shrugs before the slightly surprised expression of the officer. “It's pretty much common knowledge. But if they're honest, they'll also tell you two other things: the first is that any animosity I had for Harris, he more than gave it back at any occasion. And the second...the second is this: _nobody_ liked Harris. Not the students, and certainly not the teaching board”.

He holds the man's eyes calmly. “With all my respect to the dead, he was an ass. He was haughty, disdainful and scathing with about everybody around him, and most especially his students”.

Derek bends down to catch his bag and sling it on his shoulder. “So, no”, he says with a touch of finality in his tone. “I'm not going to cry all night or lose sleep over the death of Adrian Harris”. The Deputy's lips thin at the harshness of the words, but he doesn't say anything, and Derek takes it as the signal the interrogation is over. “Can I go?” He asks it respectfully but a bit tensely – because, come on, why does everyone thinks either him or Peter systematically are the monsters out there? -, and Stilinski sighs without even hiding. 

“Yes”, he answers a bit shortly. “Go to you classes”. Derek doesn't need being told twice.

***

When Derek rematerializes about two miles from Peter's house, it's nightfall already, and he's positively seething with rage. He's going to _murder_ the Alpha, and he's going to make it painful and bloody. And long.

Not only a Deputy watched him for the best part of the day to make sure he was effectively in class, but, icing on the cake, the whole school seem persuaded that Derek is, in fact, the one who butchered Harris – which ended in a muscled gang questioning attempt that only his superior senses allowed him to dodge.

And fucking David...Once he's done with Peter, Derek going to find him and beat the shit out of his sorry ass, too. His brother spent all the morning taunting him without interruption – and with werewolf's hearing, that means really all the time. By the end of his classes, Derek's nerves were pounding along with his head, and he barely contained the urge to kill a student on his way out.

After two full weeks of taking Peter's jibes, Derek would have believed himself quite immune – and it's partially the case. David's taunts are nothing next to some of what Peter threw at his face, but were his lover was hurtful and cut deep, his brother stays shallow but incredibly irritating, grating on the nerves like a noisy fly.

At first, you don't pay attention to it, but if it keeps circling you, you quickly lose you calm in favor of trying to flatten it against the nearest wall. Well, it's exactly the same.

But David goes second in the order of Derek's priorities. He is and always was a puffed-up imbecile. That he jumps on the occasion to jar Derek is no surprise. But Peter? Peter is _clever_. Even lost in his vengeance, he's still devious, still cunning. He should have known better than to kill Harris in plain view that way.

In fact, Derek is pretty sure he does, which mean that Harris' killing was on purpose – he doesn't know if it was a open challenge to the Hunters or one last jibe at Derek, but it's stupid in the first case and petty in the second. Two adjectives he normally wouldn't associate with Peter at all, but these days...well, who knows what goes in the Alpha's head?

He jumps over a branch almost lazily...and gives a savage, panicked twist to his leap, falling into a jarring roll and ducking beneath the trees' shadows. It's only when his evasive move is done that he realizes the Hunter he almost stumbled on isn't moving at all. Or even breathing. Cautiously, Derek approaches.

The man is lying belly-down, and the rifle's barrel on the ground by his head glints in the moonlight – it had been what Derek had caught sight of earlier. He slowly makes his way over, on alert for any sign of an ambush. He wouldn't put it past the Hunters to use the dead body of one of their own as bait. But nothing's moving, and the man is very much dead, the pommel of a long hunting knife protruding from his throat.

Which, now that Derek thinks on it, is weird. Peter would have rather slashed the Hunter's neck – or his body. But there's hardly a trace of a fight – the blade notwithstanding. Frankly it's like the man...but of course he did. If he truly attacked Peter, then the idea that he suddenly decided to kill himself on his own knife is perfectly possible. Christ. Derek doesn't know if his lover's victims stay awake somewhere, but he almost pities the man. Almost.

Anger forgotten, he rises his head to look around, feeling worry slither his way in his chest. There's no proof of a real, grand-scale fight, but surely Hunter n°1 here didn't come alone. He shakes his head, hissing a curse between his teeth. _Peter, what the hell were you thinking?_

Alright. He needs to look at it from a strategic point of view. His gut feeling – to run at the house with his heart in his throat - is not useful. And not fitting in the situation, either. Between his Gift and his Alpha power, Derek doubts that there's any chance Peter got caught. He once took over about two-hundred humans – a few Hunters are nothing.

His lover has gotten away, Derek'd bet his life on it. The question is where did he go afterwards? Where could he go? Scarred as he is, he's eminently recognizable, and every last BC resident knows about the mysterious disappearance of the burned, catatonic patient from the hospital. 

Add to that cameras...the Alpha's Gift isn't enough to guarantee his safety. And, no matter how twisted Peter has become, no matter how much Derek feels like he doesn't really know him anymore...Survival is something he's very used to. And Peter is in survival mode, right now. He'd be searching for a place where nobody else would think to look, and yet somewhere he'd feel safe. Not at Derek's, it's too evident. But maybe...

...maybe there's somewhere else.

***

Derek makes his way carefully around the back of the house and checks his surroundings one last time to make sure he hasn't been followed or that nobody his watching him. Reassured, he reports his attention on the open back window.

That, he figures, is as good as an invitation. 

With a disabused scoff, he takes two run up steps and pounces. His well-calculated jump gets him just below the window's frame, and he only has to slip up and through to enter the house, footsteps silent and careful. Even if he knows that there's no one else in the place, he can't help it – wolves are naturally eerie silent. The room he's in is dusty and rather empty, but he figures it makes sense – there been no-one in there for the last month, and the cops that came by to search for evidence didn't bother to replace it. The owner is dead, after all. Nobody left to claim the house, and it's too early for a sale.

An abandoned building with nobody passing through, away from prying eyes. Derek knew he was right, and catching Peter's scent nearby had been no surprise – maybe he still knows his lover a little, in the end. The thought is strangely comforting.

Still without a sound, Derek moves past a first closed door, then a second, before stopping in front of the third. The heartbeat behind it is perfectly steady, and its well-known rhythm manages to calm his nerves even now. He takes a short breath and opens the door. A pair of red eyes welcome him, amused with a touch of curiosity. “Why the tension, my love? Surely you know we're alone. There's no risk”. Derek stares for a second, and then he shrugs, but Peter moves gracefully forwards on his armchair, expression intent. “Do tell. I'm curious”.

Derek sighs, but decides to not be difficult. Yet. “Let's say that I...well”. He lets his eyes run over the spacious bedroom, taking in the bed and the armchair, to which you could add a wooden desk, a tiny book case and a wardrobe. “The house isn't agreeing with me, that's all”, he finally admits.

Peter emits a thoughtful sound. “Because it was Jen's”. It's not a question, and Derek doesn't bother answering, letting the silence agree for him. “You find it impolite, I take it”. Again, it's no query, but suddenly Derek finds Peter's supposed omniscient knowledge about him irritating.

“I find it way past _impolite_ ”, he retorts acidly, the accent on the last word outraged. “I find it beyond rude that I'm standing here, in the house of a woman I killed by bashing her skull in”. Peter rises an eyebrow, but Derek holds up a hand. “And, no it's not guilt. I just think it's a insult to the dead to be here”.

Peter chuckles. “So well-mannered”, he murmurs, “and yet, deep-down, a killer to the core”. Derek grits his teeth, but doesn't rise to the bait, and Peter laughs again, low in his throat. “Well, if it can placate you, I have been in dear Jennifer's head”. He shrugs elegantly. “I'll spare you the details, but she wouldn't mind”.

Derek rises a disbelieving eyebrow. “I assure you”. Peter tilts his head. “She...I suppose you could say she loved me, in her own way. She would have given me anything if I had asked. Her house. Her unconditional help”, he throws a pointed glance at Derek that the younger wolf holds without flinching. “Her life, even, or...”

“Or Harris' head?”, Derek cuts harshly in the morbid list. He's unable to keep the furious note out of his voice, and Peter's eyes narrow, something cold dancing in their depths. He gives a dry, curt nod, and rises. He moves, almost feline, predator-like, as he often does since elevating to Alpha rank, stepping towards the window.

“Ha. Here we are, finally”. His body is silhouetted against the light, a dark, cold and lonely shape. Suddenly, without the mocking, painful irony of Peter's fiery pupils pressuring him into anger and mistrust, it hits Derek that the Alpha is even lonelier than him.

His lover is caught in a one-sided battle, a lone quest for vengeance without any allies. And even if he himself refused to join in, in this instant he does wonder if Peter truly wants this – if it's not more a question of needing it, like it could somehow exorcise the pain and the rage and the horror. 

“Harris”, Peter says, and Derek's attention snaps back to the conversation. “It's the reason you're here?”. Yes, Derek wants to say. But it's not true. Harris was the last thing on his mind as he tore through the forest to Jen's house. The only thing that mattered was to get to Peter, because all the intellectual reassurances in the world weren't enough.

Not after what happened the last time Derek was too late.

He closes his eyes, feeling awfully tired all of a sudden. Fighting against Peter was exhausting, and fighting against himself is even worse. A killer to the core, Peter had said. It had been a taunt, of course, but it had hit a lot closer to home than Derek cared to admit. Because even with all his morals, if he had a chance to get at Kate...

He always prided himself in never lying to himself, and he has to admit it: not only he effectively is a killer, but he loves it, in a way. Not the act of killing itself, but the run and the chase. To follow the wind to your prey, to duck and hide in the shadows and jump at its throat when you get the chance. 

How many times did he dream of it, of ripping off a Hunter's head? Kate's head?

He racks a hand through his hair with a defeated shrug. “No”, he sighs. “I wasn't thinking of Harris at all. I just...wanted to find you. I was worried”. A bark of savage laugh escapes him. Worried out of my fucking mind, actually, when I found the Hunter's body. I thought that maybe...”. He falls silent, but Peter visibly doesn't need him to finish.

“...you thought they could have caught me somehow”, he ends slowly. The silence cloaks them for a long minute, before finally, Peter moves away from the window to look at Derek fully. The scars on his face are still here, twisting their way from his forehead and down to the side of his neck where it disappears under his shirt.

“Why don't you heal those?”. The question is out of Derek's mouth before he can reign it in, low tone tense and unsure. He doesn't know if he has any right left to ask something like this, something so personal, after turning his back on Peter. But his lover doesn't seem to take it badly, stepping even closer.

“Tell me something first”, he demands, and Derek hesitates for a heartbeat before nodding. “You reeked of tension when you came in, and you turned around the house about three times when you found me. Why? It wasn't just prudence, not then”. Peter's eyes, Derek notices now that the Alpha is close enough, have shifted back to dark blue. “Why?”, the elder man asks again.

Derek rubs his temples, but at this point, what's one more truth? “I wasn't sure if you wanted me to find you”, he says simply, and averts his eyes. “After...the way we separated. I don't know, I believed that...you were done with me. You know, betrayal, and all of that”. He expected surprise or anger, but Peter lets out a low laugh.

“Oh, my love”, Peter shakes his head, something fond passing in his eyes. “I tried to kill you. I believe we betrayed each other quite enough to call it quit on both sides”. Derek blinks at the statement, and then he starts to laugh in turn, because it so fucking true he's going to cry if he doesn't.

Peter suddenly grabs him hard, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging him close, until he can press their foreheads together, their old, familiar way of saying affection without words. “Come with me”, Peter asks, and Derek swallows raggedly around a pained sigh.

“We already had this conversation”, he mumbles, more preoccupied by inhaling Peter's scent like some kind of addict getting his fix. He cannot even feel ashamed of he way he's burrowing his face against his lover's – that's how much he missed the man. Three weeks, three little weeks, but still Peter's absence ached like a phantom limb.

“Ask me again”. The murmur is incredibly close to his ear, like saying it too loud will shatter it, and for a second Derek wonders if he's not just hallucinating. “What?”. He steps back, out of Peter's embrace, eyes wide. “What did you say?”. His steel-like grip on Peter's wrist has to be painful, but he just needs the anchor at the moment.

“Ask me again”. Peter repeats it gently, almost carefully, and Derek sees a shadow of doubt pass in his eyes – he's already closing off once more, taking Derek's disbelief as refusal, while the young wolf is still trying to get his head around the fact that maybe, just maybe, Peter would be ready to give ground.

“Why?”. Peter's whole face turns impassive at that, and Derek bites his lip, aware he misstepped. He tightens his grip on the Alpha's arm. “Wait”, he pleads, and the glance that the elder man throws him for that is terribly cold. “Please”, he protests, “just...give me a second. I'm not saying no, I...”. 

He takes a deep breath, tries to find the words to explain the way hope and dread are simultaneously clawing at his chest, how wary he is of being played because he's not sure Peter wouldn't be ready to use him, but it's too much to say. The sentences die in his throat one after the other, and he looks helplessly at the floor.

“Why?”, he finally asks again, because he doesn't understand how Peter's U-turn can make sense without an explanation. “You've lost me, here. I just don't get it, I...I can't believe it, not that easily”. _You hurt me one time too much_ , are the unspoken words, and Derek can see that Peter is aware of them. “So why?”

Peter rips his arm from Derek's grip easily, and he turns away to laugh raggedly, mirthlessly, something cold and dark. “Because I'm a fool, that's why”, he spits it wildly, but he seems to be raging at himself more than at the younger wolf, and Derek decides to keep silent. “I should hate you for what you did. Or if I can't, then at last I should leave you behind, and go without turning back – you'll be an hindrance and a distraction both. I know that. You'll keep me from obtaining what I want with your damned moral code”.

Peter is speaking to the window, mostly, but there's so much venom in the words that Derek flinches. And yet he understands what the Alpha is getting at. In the end, can you really hate someone for how much they hurt you, and still love them like crazy?

Three years ago, he would have said no – that it was ridiculous, that if you love someone, then you love them unconditionally. Now...now there has been days, since Jen's attack, when he thought about ending it. Leaving Peter. Freeing him, and just go away, far from BC, because he didn't know how much pain he could still take. That's after one of these days that he set up to create his place: not much, not even functional. An old railway station, with a mattress, a few books...

But it was his 'away', somehow. Enough that he could release the pressure and be alone.

“I do, in a way, you know? Hate you”. Peter is still talking to the room at large more than at Derek, but in a way it's easier that way. Easier to think and understand what's said and unsaid when he doesn't have to met Peter's eyes – red or blue, it doesn't matter. It never fails to make him want to grab him and never let go again either way.

But presently, Derek scoffs. “Welcome to the club”. Peter half-turns, visibly surprised, and Derek rises an eyebrow. “What? You tried to kill me. One time for sure, the second more arguably. You're not the only one who feels angry. But”, he adds with a small frown, “I thought we called it quit?”.

Peter's lips twitch. “As much as we can”, he retorts with a derisive note in his tone, and Derek nods, acknowledging the point. Saying that they're quit isn't the same thing as fully letting go – resentment is like a festering wound. It takes a lot more than a few words to heal it, especially when the pain runs deep – and it does, for both of them.

“But bitterness aside...”. Peter looks briefly at the ceiling, like the words he must say are written here. “You need to know that nothing is more important to than this. Nothing. I will find the culprits, may it be Hunters or professors, and I will slaughter them all”. The Alpha finally turns to look at Derek, and his eyes are back to bloody red.

Derek lets his own eyes shift, lets rage bubble under his skin and permeate his scent. “I never had any problem with that part of the plan”, he points out calmly, if frostily. “I saw you catatonic and scarred for years, in so much pain my draining was useless. Believe me, I'll cheer on every murder of the sons of bitches”.

Peter grins savagely and the light in his eyes is openly appreciative. “Hatred suits you more than courtesy, my love”, he comments almost off-handedly before growing serious once more. “When I burned, all I had left was my rage. Do you know how our kin live coma, Derek? We stay aware, alone with ours thoughts, circling again and again in ours head”.

Peter looks at him defiantly, eyes burning. “My rage kept me sane, and I won't apologize for it. It was that or turning crazy. In fact, I daresay that if this had continued on, if you hadn't brought me back...I would probably have cracked at a time or another, and truly became the remorseless monster you imagine”.

Derek's lips thin, and he take a shaking breath. “I didn't know that”, he murmurs.“I...I'm sorry doesn't mean anything right know, but I don't know what else to say. I'm so sorry I couldn't help more”. Peter shrugs at that.

“As I said, you brought me back. It's worth more than anything else you could have done”. Peter reaches out and tilts Derek chin up. “You saved not only my life but my sanity with it. And for this, I owe you a debt I'll never be able to repay”.

Derek smiles thinly. “You saved me from tuning rogue with despair when James kicked me out. You taught me I'm not a freak, and I learned to be proud of what I am because of you”. He lets his fingers run over the scarred tissue of Peter's face in a gentle caress. “There's no debt. Not between us”. He looks at Peter, eye-to-eye, tightening his grip slightly to make his point. “Don't do this because you believe you owe me somehow. You'll only end up hating me for it later”. He huffs a laugh. “Well. More than you already do”.

Peter's fingers come up, tangling with his. “I do”, he says. “And at the same time I don't. So much of me burned out in the fire. I'm not sure you realize how much. And yet, no matter how often I willed it gone, there's a part of that's left that is yours, utterly. Sometimes I feel like I would give you anything you ask, just to have you here”.

“Even a compromise?”, Derek asks, and he's feeling like he's being torn apart with hope. Peter closes his eyes briefly, like he's debating the idea one last time. He looks at Derek again, eyes roaming his face, weighting him up against freedom for his vengeance.

“What kind of compromise do you have in mind?”. He's wary as he asks, but Derek doesn't mind. He knows exactly what he wants – he imagined it hundred time over in his dreams, be they at night or in the day, until he knew what to ask for to the word.

“Two things. First, I want proof – each time you want to kill a culprit. And two: I always come with you. If you have proved to me that they were part of it, I'll have no reason to stop you in any way. But I'll be here. Always”. Derek holds Peter's gaze without backing down. “Does that seem acceptable to you?”.

“What if I say yes?”, is the final answer. “Would you come with me, then?”. Peter's hands have slipped on his back, following his spine, a slow, torturous trail. “Say you'll come with me”. Peter's voice has turned into a low rumble, and desire is evident in his once more dark blue eyes. 

Desire and need, the exact reflection of Derek's feelings. “Yes”. He breathes it out, dizzy with want, its low heat pulsing in time with his heartbeat. His tongue seems clumsy, and he cannot help the way he's tugging at Peter's shirt. “Yes”, he repeats. “Gods, yes. As long as you keep your word”.

Peter emits a broken sound, like something has finally come loose in him. “I will. That much I promise to you”. The questing hands slip under Derek's shirt, impossibly warm against his slightly chilly skin. “I swear”, he repeats one more time, just before Derek swallows the rest of the words in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss.

They stumble towards the bed, more by luck that anything else, and engrossed and tangled in each other as they are, their werewolf reflexes are probably the only thing that allows them to get there without falling into a heap on the floor. They still trip as they near the bed, enough they they crash on it harder than either of them probably intended, but the thought flies from Derek's head the second Peter starts mouthing at his jaw. He imperceptibly rear back so their eyes meet. “Swear to me I won't regret it”. 

The glint in his eyes is terribly hard when you consider their current situation, but Peter only nods, fervently but seriously. “Never. Not that. Never that”. He sounds wrecked, and Derek shivers at the way his pupils have dilated, turning dark from lust. He arches for another lustful kiss, until he's out of breath and has to break off. Peter starts to nuzzle at his jaw again, and tugs at Derek's shirt. “Get that off. Come on”. 

Derek can't help his laugh. “I kind of need you to let go of me for that”. Peter wheels him in for another kiss, until Derek's lips feel used and swollen, before releasing him. He quickly passes his shirt overhead, sending it flying in the general direction of the armchair, and turns back to Peter. The Alpha is slowly looking him over, but strangely, Derek doesn't feel shy in the last. Not of his naked chest, nor of the hard, evident bulge of his erection. 

He lets himself fall back on the bed, let himself be watched in silence, and soaks up in his lover's dark-eyed appreciation. Peter extends a hand, tracing the outline of Derek's only scar. He closes his eyes under the gentle, almost reverent touch, until the other man's voice brings him back.“Where does that come from?”. There's a slight, unhappy frown marring Peter's forehead, like the scar is a personal insult, and Derek strokes his lover's wrist absently.

“One of the first Hunters”, he answers matter-of-factly, “before Jen started to help me. He took me by surprise, and he had a knife with wolfsbane on it. I wasn't quick enough in getting the poison burned out. It left a mark”. He shrugs. “I don't mind. It a reminder that I survived”. He looks at Peter's face, bathed in moonlight. “Is that why you're not letting these heal?”.

“Yes”. For a second, his eyes flash a wild red. “I want them to see. All of them – they'll have to look at me, at what they wanted to do and almost did. At the fact that I'm still here in the end”. Derek nods, slowly. He expected the answer. He rises to a sitting position, letting his hand travel down Peter's chest to the hem of his shirt.

“Your turn. Get that off. I'm not getting naked alone”. Peter chuckles at that, expression warmer than Derek has seen it in three years. But the fond face rapidly turns somber, lips thinning and jaw set hard.

“I should probably warn you” Peter says. “The extent of the damage...Well. It's not pretty”. He says it like it's an indisputable evidence, and Derek decides to not pick on it. Not yet. Peter shrugs off his shirt, let it fall by the bed and just stands here on his knees, waiting and silent while Derek takes it all in.

It's not the first time he sees it, not by far, not when he had been in Peter room every night, but it's still a shock to watch the full scarring, disfigured, melted skin stretching all the way down to Peter stomach and arm, and dipping underneath his jeans. 

In its full horror, it looks like this kind of wounds cannot be on a living person's body. But what make Derek's protective instinct come in full gear is the way the playful, hungry lust from earlier has faded to Peter braced for revulsion instead, shoulders tense and back far too straight. He slowly moves over, letting his fingers run on his lover's craved up collarbone, before trailing lower. “I don't want pretty”, he says. “I want you”.

Derek bends so he can press a lazily, warm kiss on Peter's shoulder, hands running on both his arm, scarred and unmarked alike. “I want you”, he repeats, and Peter closes his eyes with a long sigh, rigidity slipping away from his frame. He presses closer to Derek, easing them back down on the bed.

“You have me”. The answer is a raw murmur, but it's a pledge nonetheless, sealed with a passionate kiss. Peter's mouth slithers down on Derek's body languidly, mindless, urgent words of praise lost to the dark and the moonlight, except for a single sentence.

“Always and always”.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And chapter 12 - or, where issues are adressed. Some of them, at least. As usual, betaed by El!
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek cracks a lazy eye open when his pillow moves without his accord, and he squeezes it harder in reproach. Pillows shouldn't move by their own. He curls back into a ball and is about to fall back into slumber when the damn thing moves again. Exasperated, he resolves to grudgingly wake up fully, if only to take the time to send a murderous glare to...Peter? 

He blinks for a second, trying to gather his brain out of the fog of sleep, but Peter seems to take pity on him. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you”, he says, voice pitched low. “Even if it was rather difficult to get out of your hold otherwise”. Derek blinks again, owlishly, and Peter shakes his head, his amusement evident. “Still not a morning person, I see. No matter. Go back to sleep”. 

But Derek has actually woke up while the man was speaking, and he sits up. “S'okay. I'm up now”. And then he rewinds Peter's words and throws a glance to the window. 

Dawn is barely breaking over the horizon, and he groans. “God, it's not even 5AM”. He lets himself fall back on the sheets, throwing an inquisitive glance to his lover. “Don't tell me you're going for a run. Not with the actual situation” .

Peter slips his shirt on before answering. “No. It's just an old reflex to wake up early. And besides, I don't sleep so much these days”. There's something darker in his tone as he adds the precision, and Derek racks a hand through his hair. He would have liked to stay in his happy bubble a little longer, but he supposes they're both too damaged for that.

He sighs silently and finally decides he won't be able to go back to sleep at all. “Right”, he answers, and bites the bullet dead on. “Because of the coma?”. Peter tilts his head, looking a him for a long second before he seems to consider his lover's forwardness on the subject as acceptable. He nods.

“Probably”. The silence float for a minute after that, while the Alpha watches Derek rise and stretch, appreciative but silent, the mention of the fire turning the conversation hesitant and stilted. It makes sense, Derek supposes. Whether you're lovers or not, painful memories are painful memories, and the night didn't magically tie them back together. 

“And now? Should we speak of the elephant in the in the room?”. Derek rubs a hand down his face and tells himself to not take Peter's sudden sharp tone too badly. It's a touchy subject for them both, and he can understand the knee-jerk reaction of aggressiveness, but snapping at each other face is useless. 

“Now”, he retorts calmly, “You can pass me my jeans, since I believe it's somewhere on the floor next to you”. He catches the cloth on the fly, and rise an eyebrow when Peter doesn't move. “And if you really don't know what to do, feel free to make us coffee”. He reconsiders the demand and amends, “If you don't mind it cold, that's it”.

Peter face softens, the tense edge to his jaw disappearing. “I don't”. He rises, but to Derek's surprise, he comes over rather than leaving the room. “Forgive me. It wasn't very respectful of me to jump on your back that way at the first occasion. Especially after last night”. He gently takes Derek's arm, where a light bruise is still visible, if almost healed. “I was...rougher than I intended”.

Derek let out a amused sound. “I've no complains on this side, don't worry”. And because Peter still doesn't let go of his wrist, he rolls his eyes and adds teasingly, “If you want compliments, you should have just said it”. He tilts his head in a overly pensive fashion. “So. To sum it up, I enjoyed the hell out of it. How does that sounds to your ego?”.

Peter throws him a mildly irritated glance. “That was me trying to be nice”, he points out coldly. “Since you're mostly still persuaded I'm a psychopath of some kind. But I won't bother anymore. Apparently it goes right over your head”. And before Derek can as much as think of a answer, Peter stalks out of the room.

Okay, what the fuck? 

Derek stares at the open door for a few seconds longer, taken aback. What was that? Yes, he took the whole thing on the joking side, but he had no reason think Peter was serious. He was saying the truth – he had one hell of a time last night. What should he have said? No, you hurt me terribly, beg my pardon on your knees?

It's ridiculous. He looks down at his arm disbelievingly, where the bruise is now barely more than a slightly darker shadow on his skin. It's nothing. And, well, when it comes to it...if anything, he should be the one apologizing to Peter. His control had seriously frayed as he was coming, and he remembers distinctly digging full-blown claws into his lover's upper back.

He thinks on it a minute more, but he comes up with a total blank. He has no idea why Peter freaked out just now. And the best way to discover it, he decides, is to go ask the Alpha himself – it'll be the perfect warm-up before hitting the subject of Harris.

He stretches one last time, feeling his muscles twinge a bit. He's still sore, just a little, a somehow unusual situation for a werewolf. _Alpha made_ , he thinks with amusement before getting out and down the stairs.

Peter is sitting on one of the living room's armchairs instead of the sofa– so much for inviting to close proximity. But okay. Derek can take a hint. He goes right to the coffee, battling with his rising irritation. Calm. He's not even sure of what's going on, so first, he finds out about it. And after, he gets angry. Maybe. Hopefully not.

But considering the way Peter ignores him as he sits down on the nearby divan's arm, he's probably being over-positive. With a silent sigh, he takes a fortifying gulp of his drink before jumping in the proverbial lion's den. “Not as good as a warm latte, but it sure beats the one at school”.

“Sorry”, Peter retorts. “The coffee shop is three streets away, feel free”. The tone is utterly disdainful, and Derek is painfully reminded of the ash circle days, when Peter's words cut deep enough to bleed. So much for his first try.

“Okay. Let me reformulate: thanks for the coffee, it's a pleasure to drink next to what I'm used to”. Peter doesn't dignify that with an answer, and Derek's temper snaps. “That was a thank you, by the way, asshole”, he spits venomously. “But you're right. I don't even know why the fuck I even bother”. 

He rises and puts his mostly full cup in the sink, half-furious and half-wounded. What the hell happened? Admittedly, they're far from having worked through everything, but he hoped they were past that. Jesus, didn't they tore into each other enough yet? “I'm going to take a shower”, he finally says, aiming for civil and absolutely failing.

He quickly gets up the stairs, resisting the urge to slam the bathroom door behind him. He slips out of his clothes and steps in front of the full length-mirror to look at himself up and down. Yes, he has a few traces here and there – bruise fingerprints on his hips and arms, a trace of bite on the collarbone, a slightly racked back.

Not much more that what he tended to inflict on his human lovers. It's sex, and, especially with wolves involved, it's bound to end up with marks on both sides. Peter's have already faded, and his are on their way to do the same. He looks at his face, where worry and tension have chased any attempt of a smile, and he closes his eyes. 

He doesn't get it, like almost always when Peter is concerned, but he's tired of having to guess and guess again, and lose himself into endless possibilities. Maybe it's just a mood without any rapport to him. Maybe Peter's thinking of the fire – God knows it's a good reason to get angry over.

Maybe he got what he wanted – Derek's word and his Gift at his disposal, and he won't bother anymore, as he said himself.

With a exhausted shake of head, Derek turns the tap on, only to rear back with a hiss. The water is like ice. He lets himself slide on the side of the tub, water still running, and presses his forehead to his closed fist. It's cold. Of fucking course it's cold. It goes perfectly well with the new owner of the house, and his cold heart of a bitch.

He head hits the ceramic edge with a morose thud, and he feels his eyes suddenly start to burn. He doesn't even know why he's crying. He's just horribly tired, all of a sudden, feeling small and alone. He thought he had found Peter again, but that's utter bullshit, and he just...

It's barely an order or even a conscious thought. His Gift just wakes up and takes him along gently, like warm arms closing comfortingly around him and whisking him away.

He vanishes.

***

“Where the fuck were you?”. Peter's voice has risen to a shout, eyes gleaming a savage red, but Derek simply looks at him coldly, not impressed in the last.

“Out”, he retorts scathingly. “I needed some air. I wasn't aware I was your propriety, for you to decide when I can take a walk”. Whatever Peter was about to say, that seems to cut right through, and he stares at Derek, confusion evident in his eyes. 

“What...?”, he starts.

But Derek doesn't give him the time to finish asking. He passes him by to go the living room and sits in one of the armchairs. “So. We said proof. Admittedly, this one is a bit late in coming, but I want to know: why Harris? It is because you think he's the one who explained to the Hunters how to make the arson?”.

Peter is still looking at him like hes' a stranger, and Derek feels a vicious surge of satisfaction even as his face stay impassive. “What”, the Alpha says slowly, dangerously, “is going on here? If this is some kind of teenage rebellion, you're a little late, my lo...”.

“Don't call me that”, Derek hisses, control shattering - it was never going to last, anyway. Being all contemptuously blank is Peter's ground. It was just a question of giving a taste of his own medicine, for once. “Nothing's going on. I got out, I took a walk – it's my right. Now, do you want to talk about the vengeance crusade of your life, or not?”.

Peter lips thin, and he looks at Derek with a frown, trying to make some sense out of his coldness, but Derek rises a challenging eyebrow. “So, Harris? I'd thought you'd jump on the occasion to explain the rightness of your actions”.

A furious growl echoes off the walls in response to that. “I don't have to justify myself to you!”. Peter takes a hissing breath, visibly attempting to calm down. He grabs the closest armchair and comes to sit in front of Derek. “Alright”, he says, clearly irritated. “You're in a bad mood – the message got through. What about you tell me why?”.

Derek tilts his head, observing the Alpha's face, the deep frown over the exasperated red eyes. “You don't even really care, do you? The idea that I can be upset, it's just this...annoying waste of time to you”. He laughs, hollow and cold. “Even your whole posture telegraphs it. 'Get over yourself, so we can go back to my vengeance'”.

He sighs. “To answer your question, I'm not 'in a bad mood'. I'm just giving you the only thing you ever gave a shit about: my help to kill off half of Beacon Hills. Because, yeah, you got it. I'm a man of my word – as long as I have my proof, I won't get in the way. Case in point, me asking about Harris. So spill, would you?”.

Peter's whole body tenses at that, rage twisting on his face, and for a second, he looks like he could jump on Derek to tear him to shreds. Finally the, Alpha averts his eyes to stare savagely at the wall, taking slow, measured breaths. “You're lying” the elder man finally says, through gritted teeth. “You are trying to start a fight. Why?”.

For a second, Derek considers not answering, let things fester and steam, but in the end, he's not cowardly enough to do it. Peter is right, he wants a fight. Wants a reason, any reason, to punch the Alpha in the face and somehow let out his rage. 

“Because it's all you know to do anymore”, he says. He doesn't know where his venom is coming from, but it's here, burning through his veins.“That and metaphorically slapping me in the face each time I'm foolish enough to lower my guard even a little. Each time I think I may have found you again, you just stab me in the back”.

“I'm tired of that. Visibly, my company or my feelings are a bother to you, so this is me proposing to get strictly on business – no need to cuddle me or fuck me. It's simple enou...”. Peter's fist crashes against the wall a hair's breath from his head with the sickening crack of broken bones.

“How dare you,”, he snarls, almost fully wolfed out. “I gave you everything I could still give! When will you understand that I'm not the old Peter? He's dead, burned, destroyed! He'll never, ever come back, do you understand this?”. Derek can't help but flinch back. He has never seen Peter so enraged – or in so much pain.

Something clears in Peter's eyes when he notices Derek's aborted, fearful move, and he steps back with a wild growl, tugging his hand free from the concrete wall to turn away. His knuckles are a mess of blood and visible bones, but he doesn't pay attention it, head bowed as he forces his control back.

“The man I am now is all that's left”, he says roughly, staring fixedly at the kitchen, his back to Derek. “I know it's not enough for you, but...”. He finally turns back, eyes dry but terribly, painfully hard. “I need my vengeance – to have as little peace as I can gather. What I gave you...I won't, can't go further”.

Derek looks at him for a second, and then he rises in turn. “So that's all the bargain I get? I let you use me, fuck me through the night and then act like you can barely support the sight of me in the morning? Do you have any idea how it feels to give your trust to someone and having it thrown back at you like it's dirt?”.

Peter stares at him like he's speaking chinese at first, and then he closes his eyes, guilt flashing over his face. His anger seems to deflate like a pierced ball, and he racks a hand through his still too-long hair. “I never meant to...make you feel like that”. His irises fade back to blue. and he carefully steps forwards Derek.

When the young man doesn't protest, he moves even closer, until they're standing facing echo other in the doorway like two wary, wounded animals. “You told me, three weeks ago, that you'd rather leave than follow a mindless murderer”, Peter finally starts slowly, and Derek forgets his anger a little to listen.

“I can understand that, especially as I attacked you twice. You mistrusted me”. Peter inclines his head. “But I thought that you had finally understood last night”. The Alpha grabs his shoulders, fingers digging painfully in the skin. “Derek, I am not you old lover, not anymore. I'll _never_ be this Peter Hale again”.

“But as I said...I'm trying, because I do love you, as much as I'm still able to”. Peter releases him with a small, exasperated sound. “But this morning, when I tried to show care, you just laughed at me”. The glare is back, if more mild. 

“I wasn't trust”, Peter admits, and his voice hardens as he continues, “But I certainly felt like you threw it back at my face nonetheless”. There's something pained in his eyes.”Why do you believe so hard that I'm unable to care or to love?”.

Derek swallows and remembers his thoughts at the moment, after he had batted aside Peter's concern. Ridiculous, he had said, and it was, in sense. But it had hurt Peter, no matter how justified, and what was left of his anger abates as well. “I...I didn't mean it like that”, he sighs.

“When I answered – it wasn't me disdaining your concern, I just...”. He chuckles, hollow and tired, before ending. “I found it ridiculous, because with all the things that had gone bad between us, you decided to worry about the one night during which we didn't fight . I sincerely believed you were joking, or...something”.

He studies Peter's frown, the lines of tension around his eyes. “Why...why did you take it so seriously?”. The question is careful, but he can't help but wince a little as he adds, “I mean, I slashed your back open back then, so if it comes to it, I'm the one who should apologize”.

Peter waves a hand, brushing the remark off. “It's healed already. And if I may add”, a slight smile tugs at the Alpha's lips, “it was more flattering than anything else – to see you lose control because of me”. He readies himself to say something else, but Derek is faster.

“So you don't mind me clawing at you, because you find it kind of hot, and it's healed anyway?”. Peter rises an unimpressed eyebrow that says clearly he's seeing the trap from ten miles away, but Derek isn't aiming for subtle. “Right?”, he insists, and Peter nods reluctantly.

Derek spread his hands triumphantly. “Welcome in my world, then”. When Peter doesn't look convinced, he rolls his eyes. “Come on, it's sex – it's messy, and it leaves marks. I don't mind, you don't mind, so why the freak out?”.

Peter clicks his tongue, a exasperated, tense sound. “You really don't see it do you?”. He sounds half-tired, half-angry, and hint of defeat in his weary words. “I don't care about the marks – it's nothing. I care about the fact that when you look at me, you see a monster, someone that you can save by bringing them back to who they were”.

Derek stares, shocked, and opens his mouth for a deny, confused and indignant, but Peter holds up a hand. “No”, he says, and Derek reluctantly falls silent. “Let me finish”. 

“I love you. Love who you are, no matter how much I hate you sometimes. But you? You don't love me. For you I am nothing but an error. I shouldn't be that way, you said it yourself – because what you want, in the end, is the old me. The gentle, warm, normal version of me”.

The tone is calm, almost clinical, but helplessness rage is underlining the words, and Derek realizes that, no matter how calm Peter may look at the moment, anger and pain are bubbling dangerously close to the surface. 

But Derek is stubborn to the point of folly sometimes, and he rises his chin defiantly as he retorts, “Do you deny it? That what you are now isn't who you should be?”. Because it's true, this isn't Peter. He's no sociopath, isn't consumed by vengeance. It's the fire that made him that way, the pain and the rage. It not who he should be.

Peter turns to look at the kitchen for a long time. “No”, he finally retorts tightly. “I don't. If it wasn't for the fire, I probably wouldn't be this way”. Another pause, before his voice suddenly snaps like a whip, cold and harsh and merciless. “But it happened. It's how it is, now. This is me, right here”.

The Alpha looks at him, eyes like pure ice, savage and cutting. “I'll never revert back – I don't even want to”, he adds almost gently. “The only person that mattered back then, I loved enough that I still love them now. The rest is irrelevant. I don't mind. The question is, do you? Which it is, Derek? A memory, or me?”.

It's Derek's turn to avert his eyes, losing himself in the contemplation of the stairs as he mulls this over, more shaken than he likes to admit. He'd like to defend himself, and he could, because while he effectively wants Peter back, he has reasons to. Christ, the Alpha tired to kill him – that alone is enough to break any trust he had.

Becoming lovers again doesn't change anything. This Peter is dangerous. To others, and to Derek. Even as for his word...what weight has the oath of a psychotic killer? What is worth any promise Peter makes as he is like this? In the end, Derek can only blame himself for being caught off-guard.

He should know better than this. Staying means being always careful. Always prepared, with nothing left to trust – because when push comes to shove, it's the root of everything: he doesn't trust Peter. Not anymore.

Not _this_ Peter.

This morning, he foolishly believed that they had came back to their old arrangement, easy-going and oh-so cherished. On that much, Peter is right: Derek keeps expecting his old lover to show up, and maybe it's really unfair. Maybe if he stopped trying to find 'his Peter' and just looked without searching for somebody else, he'd see.

See who Peter has truly become. See if Derek can love him, and not the ghost he imagines and hopes for. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get his assurance that he can trust the Alpha's word – or not. But he'd know, at least. In the last five minutes, Peter has proved two things: his control is more frayed than it appears. And he still understand Derek terrifyingly well. Because as he said, the question is here: is Derek ready to give it a try?

Let go of who Peter was, as much as he can, and see if he can love this man, dangerous and deadly and broken as he is. This man who still has enough ability to care in him even after being burned inside and out. This man who has given him one more chance to walk away if he so wishes. He's free. To go. To leave and mourn in peace for the loss of Peter, his Peter.

Or he can stay. Take the risk, the risk of his life and his heart, once again. Try to understand the Alpha, at the same time a familiar love and a perfect stranger. 

He turns back to Peter, who's standing tall, shoulders squared, eyes hard and defiant. Unyielding as stone, unwilling to back down even if it means losing Derek in the bargain. And he smiles irrepressibly, before starting to laugh. They're crazy, the both of them. And eerily similar, when it comes to it. 

Too stubborn for their own good, and too foolish to cut their losses.

Peter rises an eyebrow at the younger wolf's hilarity, but before he can say anything, Derek moves towards him, until there's barely an hair's breath between them. “I'll try”, he says. He's not promising anything, not yet. But he means it with every one of their shared breaths.

The cold glint slowly fades in Peter's eyes, and he nods. “I suppose I should thank you”, he murmurs, and Derek snorts.

“Wait a bit for that”, he counsels, and under his ironic tone, he's very serious. He doesn't know where this leaves them, not really. He won't step down on the moral ground he got, and he isn't sure how long they'll manage before ending up biting the other's head off again. Probably less than they'd like, he thinks mirthlessly.

Peter's lips twitch as well, like he followed Derek's train of thought. “Yes”, he drawls. “I'll wait and see how long you refrain from trying to strangle me in my sleep”. He tilts his head, seemingly considering something, before he closes the last inches between them, lips full and dry against Derek's.

The young man shivers as he answers the kiss, motions practiced and yet feeling strangely new, tongues tangling urgently, bodies pressing together. Just like last night, kissing Peter makes him feel like everything else has disappeared. No questions of trust or love, because at this moment, they don't have any reason to exist anymore.

They break away slowly, reluctantly, and Derek closes his eyes as he gathers his breath back, forehead pressed against Peter's. “He told them the best way to do it”, Peter suddenly whispers, and for a second, Derek doesn't get it, and then it clicks.

“Harris”. He's not saying it as a question, but he still frowns. “He was an asshole, no doubt, but...I'm not sure he'd have had the guts to purposefully imagine a way to actually kill someone”. He blinks as he remembers the teacher's unjust attitude. “Explain how much he seemed to hate me, through”, he adds thoughtfully.

Peter huffs a disdainful sound. “I highly doubt he would have had the guts to kill anyone period, purposefully or not”, he throws, contempt high and clear in his voice. “But he didn't know what his knowledge would be used for, or at least that's what he told me, and I'm inclined to believe him. He was too much of a coward to lie”.

Derek inclines his head – he feels no urge to defend Harris. Maybe the teacher didn't know what the result of his little plan would be, but the result is here nonetheless. He can't, won't forgive that. He wouldn't have tortured the man, but killed him? Without hesitation. “Okay”. He nods. “Good enough for me”.

What was left of Peter's tension bleeds out from his back, and he reaches out, gently brushing Derek's hair off his forehead. “He couldn't give me any other names, through – we'll have to find them out by ourselves”. Derek closes his eyes and hums as the fingers trace a slow pattern on his skin.

“Oh, we'll manage”.


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here chapter 13, not yet betaed, since El is a bit busy these days. So any mistakes left are mine three times over.
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek closes his locker with a sigh. Stop school because he joined Peter, my ass. Well. Admittedly, the Alpha doesn't give a shit about Derek going to his classes or not, but he said he'd like to see if there was anybody especially spooked by Harris' death, and what comments were running around about it.

It actually made sense, so Derek had bowed, and here he is, at 7:45 AM sharp, getting his lesson material to try and read the needed text before lit begins. And keeping his ears open in the bargain, which is a lot less fun than it sounds, because two nights didn't erase the general assumption that Derek is Harris' murderer.

If it was just hateful murmurs, he'd get over it. But what disgust him profoundly is the few people actually showing _appreciation_ over his supposed deed – admiring whispers, and a few less discreet catcalls of “Way to go, man”, or, even worse, “Get Lyamson next!”.

And people wonder why he's a loner. 

With an exasperated shake of head, he refocuses on his copy of Orwell – _Down and Out in Paris and London_. It's not too hard to read, but it's kind of depressing. Nonetheless, Derek forces himself to finish their given except. He has more than enough attention on him as it is, no need to add more because he's behind in class.

He jots down a few metaphors, euphemisms and other figures of language just in case he's asked an analysis, even if he doubts it: there are some upsides at being thought a cold-blooded murderer. Namely, that few teachers will dare to question him, which leaves him free to listen around at every other conversation.

The first bell rings, and Derek decides that getting in the classroom quickly is probably best, if only because he'll met a lot less students than in the corridor. The second he steps through the threshold, however, he understands that it probably wasn't so good an idea. Both the teacher and the handful of persons in the room go strung as wires.

The smell of fear/anger/doubt/pity hits him like a nauseous mix, and he has to grit his teeth to bypass it and step forward as naturally as possible, face impassive. “Sir”, he greets calmly as he takes his seat, bearing the morbidly fascinated stares with his head held up high.

But still, Peter is going to owe him big time for this.

“Hale”, the teacher answers, and at least he has the courage to look at Derek as he says it, even if wariness radiates from his whole stance. The students coming in stop dead when they spot him, and Derek wryly thinks to himself that he won't need to bother with ducking people today in the corridors between lessons.

“So. Let's begin. I had given you an extract from chapter 3 to read, and...”.

***

_Anything?_

Derek snorts derisively as he read the text. _Except for some guys that tried to corner me ten minutes ago?_ He types back. _Nope. Ah, and you have a fan club, by the way._

The answer comes less than two minutes later, and even through his phone, Derek can hears the half-disbelieving, lightly amused tone. _Fan club?_ He grins.

 _Well, technically it's mine_ , he precises with his first genuine smile since the morning tugging at his lips. _Since I'm the one they're felicitating for killing off Harris. But I'd figured I'd pass the congratulations on to you._

He can just imagine Peter rising an unimpressed eyebrow. _When you said this morning they were all mental, I figured you were overstating the case_. Derek chuckles, but before he can send anything else, another text chimes in. _Can you get some things at the store? I fear we have eaten everything that wasn't rotten or expired. Take whatever you want._

Derek takes a second to marvel at the insanity of the fact they're speaking of how to stock the house of a woman that he killed less than two months ago, while waiting for their next target to make a mistake and show up, before he brushes off the tangent.

 _No problem. I'll have to take the bus through, so I'll probably be a bit more late._ And indeed, he needs to play normal student for any watcher. This morning, he came in early enough that he could teleport over without raising suspicions, but tonight...

Ah, the joys of passing as human. He'd almost forgotten how it felt; with Peter, they don't act as anything less than what they are. The Alpha is going to owe him for this too, Derek decides.

He'll find a way to get a nice payback, he's sure.

***

Derek watches the bus come park besides the school without any enthusiasm. 

Being stuffed in with every single student in here looking at him like he's going to get an axe from nowhere and go on about to make a bloodbath will be the culmination point of an already exhausting day. 

He lost count of who wants to lynch him and who wants to cheer him on around lunch time, and he has a splitting headache - something he's getting terribly used to nowadays. With a put-upon sigh, he grabs his bag and joins the line of students getting in.

Several of them, he notices, break off to the side the second he moves, apparently deciding they can wait for the next bus and be collectively late if it means escaping a journey with him, no matter how short. _Morons_ , he thinks viciously. Can't they give him some credit?

Even if he _was_ the killer, he'd never be stupid enough to slaughter a good twenty-ish student bunch in full view, when something close to half the school saw him get in the bus. Christ. Humans are idiots, and students pathetic to boot – top of the food chain, they say. Yeah. Sure.

If only the day had lead to something. But no. Between Peter's text around 3:00 PM and the rest of the day, he discovered strictly nothing. Niet. Nada. Total and utter void. With an exasperated click of tongue, Derek gets in as the student in front of him moves.

Well, he doesn't know if Peter has a Plan B, but he sure isn't going to play undercover good student for much longer either way. At this rate, he'll blow a fuse quicker than you can say it. And besides, what was the Alpha expecting, frankly? Putting Harris into view like this was only going to make the other culprits flee. Or they would if they had half a brain.

He's going to hit the subject tonight with Peter. He seriously doubts the school lead will get them on any track. He gives the sum absently to the driver as he asks a ticket and the man bends to take one from the batch, looking just as disinterested. He consents to rise his head as he hands it over, through.

And he blanches so much Derek believes he's going to have an attack.

He's about to move forwards and ask the man if he's okay when it hits him. Terror, and guilt, powerful scents mixed together, pouring off the driver by waves. The wolf rouses inside Derek, smelling prey and weakness, making his blood burn with the urge to rend and tear. He bites the inside of his cheek, getting himself ruthlessly under control.

Not here. Not like that. And certainly not before he is sure – maybe the guy has just the phobia of presumed murderers or something.

His knuckles whiten on the ticket, crumpling it to a wrecked, tiny ball, but his face stays utterly blank. “Thanks”, he throws over his shoulder as he goes sit about six or seven seats over. Not too close from the man, but close enough to...He closes his eyes, cutting off the other scents one by one until only the driver's is left.

Leather, oil, sweat...he fills his lungs with it, until it forms a coherent whole, a one-person mark he'll be able to find and subsequently follow anywhere the second he hits a trail. This done, he carefully rewinds through his memory, back to the moment the man had turned towards him. He has seen Derek and paled like death itself was facing him.

But it doesn't make much sense. He's a _bus driver_. Why the fuck a bus driver would have ended up in an arson conspiracy for? Unless, of course, it's a question of cash – and it's a very real possibility. Derek isn't sure how much a schoolbus driver make per month, but he very much doubts it's a fortune. 

It's nothing impossible.

Maybe he just found their next target on a school bus, of all things. Maybe he's going to find out how much Peter's word is worth sooner than he thought.

Just maybe.

***

He still grabs a few things from the store, since they won't think or hunt better on empty stomachs, but he gets into a dark alley and teleports over to the house rather than walking. The driver was fucking horrified to see him. There's a chance he's going to try to run.

He reappears in the kitchen, out of the view from both the door and the stairs, just to make sure he's concealed in case somebody got in – mostly Hunters. But there's only one well-known heartbeat in the house, along with the sound of the shower on. “It's me”, he calls out. “Get out, we need to talk. I think I may be on something”.

The running water is abruptly cut off the second the he pronounces the last syllable, and he has barely the time to put his groceries away before Peter is down the stairs, still half naked and dripping, which would interest Derek a lot more but for the Alpha's savage eyes. “Who?”. He spits the single word like an inescapable death sentence.

Derek rises his hands in a placating manner. “I'm not absolutely sure, so before doing anything involving blood, guts, and torture, we'll need _proof_ ”. He stresses the last word pointedly, and waits until Peter has nodded curtly before he continues.

“I took the bus tonight, and the driver...He freaked out when he saw me, and I really mean freaked out. I thought he was going to have an aneurysm. He was literally reeking of terror and guilt. As I said, it's no proof, but it was one hell of a reaction nonetheless”. He shrugs. “It's my best lead so far”.

A dangerous, feral smile passes on Peter's face, and he moves towards Derek, all predatory, satisfied, languid grace. “It's excellent”, he murmurs, one hand slipping coming up to slip over the younger wolf's nape. “Another lead in less than 24 hours. I knew you'd be perfect”. He nuzzles at Derek temple, a gesture full of affection.

“You've always been an excellent tracker. Stubborn, resistant, and with a very good nose”. The compliment, if rather back-handed for an human, makes Derek feel embarrassingly proud, if only because he knows it's true. He's never been a top fighter, but on hunting grounds? He's always been very, very good at that.

Still... “It was more luck than anything else on this one”, he admits, but Peter simply laughs and keeps nosing at Derek's jaw, tease and caress at the same time, the way wolves express friendship and fondness. The nuzzles quickly become a pair of warm lips, through, and goes far beyond the demonstration of attachment. “Seriously”, Derek murmurs. “Luck”.

He has closed his eyes, tilting his head to give Peter better access to his neck, and he's not especially put out when the Alpha simply hums into his skin instead of answering. Answering would mean that Peter would have to stop mouthing along his throat. He'll take the silent option.

And yet...

“Hey, he was kind of spooked. Badly”. Derek forces his ideas in some kind of order, a difficult feat when every touch of Peter's lips make his thoughts derail awfully fast. “The driver, I mean” he mumbles, trying for clarity without much success. “Maybe he'll trying to run. Shouldn't we...?”.

And that's when Peter, apparently fed up with his attempts at reasoning, lets go of Derek's neck to kiss him, long and deep and thorough, leaving the young man dizzily breathless. “You, my love, are far too coherent”, he whispers, eying his lover intently. “We should remedy to that”. Derek grins, showing sharp, pointy rows of teeth.

“Should we?”, he purrs, eyes flaring neon blue for a second. He starts to trace random patterns on Peter's still damp skin, enjoying the way the muscles tense and move under his fingers, the way the Alpha arches into his touch, a glint of red behind his half closed eyes. It's a nice view alright. A very nice view.

Which reminds him...”You know, you kind of owe me for my day”. Derek leans forwards to bite lightly at Peter's collarbone. “It was very tiring, in an exasperating way. If you want me to keep doing it, I have to ask for compensation”. He soothes the fading red mark with his tongue, hands slipping up along Peter's powerful back.

There's a chuckle at his ear, and the hand at the back of his neck tangle in his hair to tug gently, until Derek consents to leave the Alpha's shoulder alone and rises his head for a kiss. “We have until nightfall before we go after Mr Schoolbus driver”, Peter murmurs when they separate. “I'm sure I'll find a fitting way to demonstrate my...ah, appreciation”.

Derek presses forwards, until they're plastered to each other from head to toe, Peter's scent filling his lungs like smoke. He slips a tight between his lover's, emitting a rough sound of encouragement when Peter rolls his hips in answer. “Bed?”, he asks breathlessly, and Peter nods.

“By all means”.

Derek smirks and decides to take him at his word. In a blink, they've vanished.

***

Shadows fall like a curtain around them as they slip through the streets, silent as ghosts and just as purposeful – tonight, they're haunting. Spying. Hunting.

Derek lets his nose guide him to his prey in an unstoppable, never-missing lead as finds his way between similar houses, unbothered with the moonlight's flickering play with the clouds. He has no need for light; in fact, he even prefers the cover of the night.

Peter follows him without word – he had handed their tracking over to Derek without a word half an hour earlier, and even now, when he certainly has memorized what exact scent his lover is hunting down, he doesn't make a move to take the lead, seemingly content with simply watching out for cameras and tapping Derek on the shoulder for him to change course when necessary.

The young wolf could do it himself, of course; even when they track a precise prey, wolves never lose sight of their environment. Always watchful, always wary. Always ready to react to any change as they must. One of the most adaptable creatures on earth. Multitasking comes easily to werewolves.

Spotting the cameras wouldn't be enough of an effort for him to lose the trail, far from it. But having Peter taking care of that for him allows Derek to concentrate almost exclusively on the man he's trailing down, choosing his paths with care to navigate between the town's security and the smell track he's keeping close to.

The scent suddenly gets stronger, not a link to follow but a strong basis in the air, marking the place like an imprint where it previously was only a thread. Peter most certainly smelt it as well, but when Derek takes a sharp left rather than going forwards, he only pauses for the briefest moment – surprise, perhaps – before moving along.

He doesn't ask any explanations, and maybe it's because he understood was Derek is doing, but it's still a proof of trust that he was in no way forced to show, and Derek can't help the slight smile playing on his lips as he veers again, back to the track by cutting through another alley.

The deviation has barely lasted fives minutes, but it allows them to approach the house from the side than full front, and they're plunged into the building's shadow. Even if the driver is actively watching out, all he'll see is what he'll probably classify as two cat's luminous eyes. 

The fact that blue and red aren't know hues of feline irises is somewhat besides the point. Humans tend to overlook the supernatural facts, or to occult them altogether, in order to built a logical, rational explanation. “It's here”, Derek murmurs.

It's not truly necessary to say it out loud, but the situation is worth a bit of solemnity. It deserves to be said that they found it, the house and the target, because a part of Derek is still battling with the belief – one of the men responsible for the fire, and only a closed door between them. He feels rage curl at the pit of his stomach.

Peter's words come back to him unbidden – his answer, when Derek had asked why he didn't let the burns scars heal. _I want them to see_ , he'd retorted. _Want them to look at me, and know that I still survived_. And suddenly, he wants it, too. To be here when the man will realize what he has done, and the price that he'll pay for it.

Because he will. He will pay the full price, pay for Peter's suffering and for what he has broken with his selfishness. Derek's lips peel back to reveal inhuman teeth. “And now what?”. He looks at Peter, who's still staring at the house. “I want my proof, but except that, it's your show. How do you want to play it?”.

Peter's attention doesn't waver, and he stays silent a long moment, bloody eyes glinting in the dark, fixated on the house like he can turn it to ruins with his hatred alone. Finally he blinks slowly, like he's getting out of a trance, and turn to send a cold grin Derek's way. “Now, let's go say hi. Politeness cost nothing, or so I'm told”. The Alpha extends a hand. “He is in the living room”. 

Peter tilts his head, like he's listening to something only he can hear, and a sly, contemptuous smile tugs at his lips as he adds, “With a bottle of brandy. More than half-empty. My, meeting you _did_ shake him something real”.

Derek snorts. “Told you – he turned whiter than a sheet”. He slips his palm into Peter's, and his face takes on a serious edge. “So. Living room”. He quickly runs a list of possible problems, the main thing being the unknown emplacement of furniture. “I can move us in, but unless crashing on something is part of the plan, the corridor would seem safer”.

Peter inclines his head, conceding the point easily. “As you feel best. I'm not the one who's doing the teleporting, after all”. He says it with a ironic grin, and Derek rolls his eyes, even as he smirks in answer, unable to help himself. It's true that the point had been severely argued over.

They had somehow managed to settle the disagreement agreeably enough in the end – mostly because they were both drowsy with sated lust and pleasure. Their pillow talk is beyond weird, by the way. But hey, if it can make them stay calm instead of snapping around in circles...Derek'll take what he can get.

Anyway, the main question had been about how to go in. Peter had pointed out that Hunters that had been on the fire conspiracy may be on the lookout, to which Derek had retorted dryly that crashing headfirst into a closet wouldn't help them go unnoticed either. 

They had glared to each other, irritated to see the truth of the other's point. That had probably looked highly comical as well, because Derek had taken up once again to his habit of sprawling all over Peter, and to glare effectively at somebody when you're using them as a living mattress is surprisingly difficult to achieve.

They finally had agreed on a compromise – they were actually becoming rather good at that: Peter would make a mental sweep, or whatever he called it, for Hunters, and Derek would teleport them in as far as the doorway corridor – since it's the only part that you mostly leave clear of garbage in every house. 

The guests have to get in somehow, after all, and, werewolves and their fondness of windows notwithstanding, that generally happens by passing through the door, and subsequently the doorway, cue the place being mostly empty of too-big pieces of furniture. Or so Derek hopes. He closes his eyes.

“If we crash into something, it'll be your fault alone, and I'll never, ever let you forget it”, he mutters, and whisks them away as he breathes out without waiting for a reply. They rematerialize without a sound – and luckily, without ending up on the wrong side of the coat rack. Wow. Derek is actually _impressed_ by himself on this one. He was sure they were going to fucking blast it to hell right, left and center. He expires, feeling a part of his tension decrease.

They have found their prey, ducked any possible Hunters, and the single human left is no threat to wolves, much less to a wolf with Peter's Gift. Not bad. Not bad at all, especially when you consider how much they have respectively changed – it's a surprise to still be able to work with each other so easily.

Peter's cold expression melts for a second, and he smiles briefly at Derek. “Thank you”. He says it in this low wolf-rumble, a sound too low for human to hear but perfectly audible for their kin, and Derek smiles back, squeezing the hand he's still holding gently. “Anytime”, he answers earnestly. “Whatever else we may disagree on, you deserve your vengeance”.

The Alpha nods, a final, curt move that shows the hatred, tempered as it is by the man's iron will, hovering just under his calm, like a storm waiting to howl and rage. “Let's get it, then”, he murmurs, features twisting into a glacial sneer, shockingly at odds with the bright ruby of his eyes.

Derek steps slightly back, letting Peter go first – he means what he said. This moment is Peter's. The elder wolf suffered more than his share to have the right to this. It'll probably – certainly, even – end up in a very literal bloodbath, Harris being the prime example. But if it's what Peter needs to find peace, or what passes for it...

Derek's expression shifts to match the harshness of Peter's, eyes glowing like ice and mouth twisted in a thin, bitter line. If blood is what Peter needs...so be it. The young wolf will monitor as much as possible, and he'll try his best to make sure no innocent will end up caught into this. But the culprits? They're more than fair game.

A few hours earlier, he would have been still a bit queasy about it – especially the possible, and probable, torture. Not anymore. Not after...he grits his teeth. After their argument, they had more or less fallen into a drowsy state, between waking and napping, enjoying the other's presence and warmth in silence.

That is, until Peter had brutally tensed under Derek, too- long nails suddenly digging painfully into the skin of his back, when the older man had been idly tracing nonsense patterns along his spine. Derek's head had snapped up, more concerned for Peter rather than for himself even if he had winced in earnest pain. What...?

His first thoughts had been about panic attack or flashback, but Peter's eyes were clear and cognizant, if several shades somber. He had nudged Derek on the side, and the young wolf had moved instantly, feeling with immediate, instinctive comprehension that keeping Peter pinned at the moment wouldn't go well.

The Alpha had risen sharply, movements abrupt, stilted, miles from his usual animal grace, to stalk to the window and throw it open almost jerkily. He had taken a deep, shuddering breath, shoulders rolling back in a – failed - attempt to chase off the tension nestled across his back. 

Braced against the window's frame, his back to Derek, it was evident that Peter didn't want his lover's presence, not at the time, and so Derek had slipped out of the bed and then of the room as unobtrusively as he could, leaving the door open in his wake so the Alpha may call him is he so wished.

He had been nursing a cold coffee while imagining the most painful way of make the Hunters pay, Kate in first, when Peter had finally come down the stairs a good half-hour later, closed-off expression telegraphing clearly how much he did not want to talk about it. Derek had gotten to his feet, rising his cup. “Want one?”.

A silent nod had been his answer, but it was all he needed, and he had gone to the kitchen without further questions, aware that pushing would only set Peter off – there's nothing more exasperating, Derek thinks, that someone badgering you about a subject you desperately want to let lie, and it's yet another opinion he shares with his lover.

So, he had been busy with mixing water and coffee when, to his surprise, Peter had stepped in the tiny room as well, visibly more inclined to Derek's presence that the young wolf had first believed. He had briefly stilled before going back to grabbing a cup – and almost letting it fall when Peter's finger had brushed the healing puncture points on his upper back without warning.

“Jesus”, he had hissed, mildly annoyed even as his reflexes had kicked in gear, allowing him to catch the mug before it broke on the floor. “You're quieter than a ghost. More Alpha creepiness, I presume?”. The silence had been his only answer, and Derek had let it go, going back to pouring the caffeinated mixture in the cup.

He had turned to Peter, and the Alpha had accepted the drink with grateful nod, taking a deep breath of coffee smell – even the simple scent can do wonders to your clarity of mind, so Derek hadn't been surprised when the older man had closed his eyes with a long sigh. 

They had sipped their respective beverages for a little while longer, and when Peter had broken the silence, it had nothing to do with answering Derek earlier question about Alpha related abilities. “You're not asking me what was that?”. The man had been watching him over the rim of his cup, eyes intent and wary.

Derek had let a breath out, lifting his shoulders in an helpless shrug. “I have a fairly good idea”, he had said. “No need to poke at open wounds. You want to talk, I'm here. Always. And if you don't...”. Derek had shrugged once more. “If you don't, it changes nothing. I'm here all the same”.

Peter had looked at him, and had smiled without saying anything more. But the way his whole body had relaxed said it all, and Derek, even as he smiled back, had internally sworn he would do anything to help Peter find his peace.

That was three hours ago, but Derek means it just as certainly now. Peter has pulled through so much, digging his way out of fire and coma by will alone. And yet, even as he survived, it still haunts him like an unclosed, painful, burning wound.

So this man in the living room, reeking of alcohol even from were they're standing? He is nothing, means nothing compared to Peter's years-long suffering. The Alpha glides in the main corridor, right towards his prey, and Derek slips behind him, jaw set.

The driver is the reason – or at last one of them – for which Peter burned alive, for which he snapped awake earlier, rigid from panic and terror. It's more than enough reason for Derek to hate him with every fiber of his being. Oh, he'll wait for his proof, alright – even if the man's guilt is not truly in question. It's semantics at this point.

But whether by Peter's or Derek's hand... he is dead already.


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And chapter 14! Forgive me for the long wait, but at least it's betaed.
> 
> Enjoy!

“I was waiting for you”.

The sentence is delivered in a definitely gloomy, morbid tone, but the man bloodshot, unfocused eyes seem hard pressed to actually look straight at Peter, and the way he has slowly pointed his empty bottle at them as he enunciated the words isn't too impressive either.

Still, Derek throws a wary glance around and slides closer to Peter, a hand brushing on the small of his back, ready to whisk them away at moment's notice. The man isn't a threat in any way, but if Hunters managed to hide around... He steals a look at Peter's face, but the Alpha isn't alarmed in the least. 

If anything, he looks coldly amused, mouth quirking up in a scathing, contemptuous smile. “Were you?”, he asks calmly, like this is a conversation between old friends rather than a on-wait execution. “Seems you are cleverer I gave you credit for, then, Mr Meyers”. 

Derek rises an eyebrow at the name, even if he supposes he shouldn't be surprised that his lover has this kind of information. He probably lifted it off the man's head the second they got close enough – even through Derek isn't sure what “close enough” implies when it comes to Peter's Gift. Still, he at least would have liked to have been told earlier.

Peter must feel his mild irritation somehow, certainly in his scent, because he imperceptibly shuffles back, pressing more of his spine against Derek's palm with a sub-vocalized, soothing rumble – the closest to an apology he can get under the circumstances. Derek rolls his eyes, but hums his acceptance.

Any laxness that had slipped into Peter's frame as he addressed Derek vanishes as he returns his attention to the driver sitting on his sofa. “So. Garrison Meyers”. The tone is still surprisingly cordial, even if the hint of scorn is clearly here. As for the use of the full name, it's more for the younger wolf's benefit than anything else, and Derek smiles privately.

Peter looks at him, red eyes watchful. “I presume you were waiting because of Harris?”, he continues slowly. “You were expecting me to come to you”. It's not a question , but he nonetheless rises an inquisitive eyebrow in Meyers' direction, and the man seems to sober up somehow, gaze more keen. 

He swallows, apparently perfectly aware that none of what he'll say will be able to save him, but answering all the same. “Since...since you disappeared. I thought...Not you, but someone. Family, lover...I knew somebody would come for me on your behalf”. His eyes stray briefly to Derek. “I didn't know about Harris, but I knew it was...for you”.

He blinks, and the alcohol haze finally lowers enough that he notices the whole shocking part of having a burned-to-death victim standing in his living room, and a glow of barely restrained panic slips in his eyes. “How...how are you here? You should be...were...”.

Peter's grin is like a wound, a vicious smile full of sharp, inhuman fangs. “Dead? Or at last too deep in a coma to ever wake up from it?”. He inclines his head, still looking disturbingly amused. “I was”. He sobers up next as he adds, more calmly. “But as you said yourself, somebody came for me, no matter the price to him”.

Meyers' incredulous, frightened attention fall back on Derek, and the young wolf holds the stare with glowing, icy irises, silently daring the man to comment, and the driver averts his eyes. But he still has the courage – or the folly - to mumble, “You made him do that to Harris? A mere boy?”. Derek bristles at the words, but Peter beats him to the punch.

He laughs, frank and deep. “Made him?”. Peter laughs again, this time genuinely amused as he shakes his head. “I don't believe _anybody_ could force him to do anything he doesn't want to. He's as easy to manipulate as a nettle bush”. Derek will elbow him in the ribs for that. Later. “And besides...”.

Peter's voice has suddenly gone harsh and somber, a hint of a growl in his throat. “I need no one, Meyers, to make men like you pay. Harris was my doing, as, rest assured, you will be”. The smile comes back, haughty and mirthless, terrifyingly wild. “But we're not here yet. Derek over here has some questions. Or so I believe?”. 

The last part is addressed to the young wolf in question, and Derek easily detects the irony of the statement. He was adamant about his proof, of course, but Meyers kind of blew the need for it the second he opened his mouth, and it's not like any of them has any doubts left – Garrison Meyers was part of the conspiracy.

And yet...Derek steps forwards, out from the shadows, but keeping close to Peter's side, making sure he just has to extend his arm to grab his wrist or elbow. You're never too paranoid, especially when Hunters are involved. Better be paranoid than dead, anyway. And as for Meyers...he, in fact, still has questions.

Well. One question, really.

“Why?”, he says as he stops at Peter's side. “The ones who employed you, I get it – I know why they'd be ruthless enough to do that. But you? What the fuck did we ever do to you, that you'd be ready to burn us alive, all of us?”. Meyers opens his mouth with a violent shake of his head, deny written clear on his face, and Derek's rage suddenly snap.

He's in the man's space in a second, fully wolfed out, garbing him by the throat in vice-like grip. “Don't even think about lying to me”, he spits between elongated teeth, fury drumming through his veins. “Not about that, _never_ about that. You're going to fucking admit it, or I'll...”. The hand squeezing his shoulder cuts him short.

“Easy, my love”. Peter practically purrs in his ear, sounding highly approving despite his words. “I am the killing, maiming psychopath here”. Derek snarls in answer, so angry he can barely breath, because how dare the son of a bitch deny it when the evidence of Peter's suffering is etched all over his face and body for everyone to see? How _dare he_?

“Because, I believe, he didn't actually set the fire”. Peter's dry words take a long time to get through the buzz of outrage and drowning anger at his ears, and once it does, he rises startled eyes at the Alpha still keeping from tearing the man's throat out. Meyers tries to say something, and Derek tightens his hold. “Shut up”, he hisses warningly.

He clenches his jaw with a small wince. He hadn't meant to voice his thoughts about his lover out loud. He turns to Peter, anger slowly receding to leave confusion in its place. “What do you mean, he didn't set the fire? Why the fuck else would he have been waiting us for, then?”. No answer, and Peter's head tilts imperceptibly towards the choking human on the chair.

Derek throws the Alpha an irritated glance, but releases his hold all the same, stepping back but hovering close enough to imply the unsaid threat of his presence. “Here”, he spats. “He can breath. Not that I'm sure why it is such a good thing”, he adds contemptuously, eying the red-faced, coughing man with supreme distaste.

Peter low chuckle surprises him, and his irritation vanishes to leave surprise behind. “Care to share the joke?”. Hearing Peter laugh here, in front of one of the men he wants to kill, is the last thing he expected. Scathing disdain, biting irony and scornful, dark amusement, yes. Of course, when you know the man. But genuine laughter?

The Alpha's hilarity fades, even as his lips keep an oddly fond quirk. “You are the joke”, he retorts with a great deal of evident amusement – Derek waits, unsure whether to take the remark badly or not, and Peter's face softens. “You have too much damned morals for my taste, and yet...if you're defending somebody you love, you're capable of becoming as ruthless as I”.

Derek stays silent for a long second, considering the point, and finally nods his assent coldly. “Anybody is capable of that, I believe”. He looks down at Meyers, reeking of sheer terror and plastered to the sofa in an effort to get away from them, and back at Peter's scarred face, and adds icily, “ Under the right circumstances”.

Peter scoffs with a decisive shake of head. “I don't think so, my love. Maybe you are right about defense of loved ones, but your loyalty confines to the dangerous edge of madness, just like my hatred”. The red eyes narrow, pensively, a glint of appreciation in their ruby depths. “The symmetry is...appealing. As is the irony”.

Derek stares for a second before deciding to let it go at that. “I didn't know being on the warpath made you all philosophical”, he remarks instead, half-mockingly, and Peter snorts but bows in acknowledgment of a well-made point.

“True”. He turns towards Meyers once again. “Let's go back to business, shall we? Now, I believe Derek asked a question a few minutes ago – what did you do, Meyers? I'd answer, but it would lose a part of its impact. So, you're going to say it yourself”. Peter bends close, looking the man eye-to-eye, fangs flashing white.

“What did you do?”. He asks once again, low, every syllable carefully enunciated, each word falling like a deadly stone, and Meyers swallows convulsively. He is a fool and a coward and Derek would gladly gut him, but, as the driver rises, wobbly on his feet, he has to admit this at last: the guy has courage. Too little, too late, obviously. But still.

“The fire...”. He's speaking to Derek as he says it, hesitating and stumbling over sentences the way drunk men do, but he has found enough clarity somehow to realize that the answer is for Derek's interest only, that Peter doesn't give a shit about his explanations - beyond holding his part of the deal he made with his lover, that's it.

“I wrote it down as...said it was accident. Accidental. I was – before the bus, I was...in assurance. An investigator. And this woman, she came, she said they could give me money for it. So much. It was – was more than all my bank accounts together”. He looks at Derek, and for the first time, there's something pleading in his eyes.

“I thought it didn't matter” he says somewhat urgently, expression lost and haunted. “Your assurance still worked well, no matter what I wrote down in the documents...”. He licks his lips nervously, stealing a glance to the empty bottle he's still holding. “Thought it didn't matter”, he finally mutters once more.

Derek takes a breath, eyes narrowed to savage slits glinting a striking blue in the dark. “Except for the men burning my...uncle”, He pauses. The word feels clumsy and inappropriate on his tongue after all they been through, and he rises his chin as he corrects in a defiant hiss, “...my _lover_ almost to death – how that's about mattering?”.

Garrison Meyers' shoulders slump, and he seems old and tired and exhausted all of a sudden, the way your are when the guilt gnaws at you from inside and you don't have enough will or good reason to appease it. It's a sensation Derek knows well, even if his own survivor's guilt was largely calmed each time he laid eyes on Peter catatonic form.

Yet, if this man was anybody else, he'd probably feel a grudging sense of empathy. As it is, he just has a profound disgust crawling up his throat – he's a rather tolerant man, a lot more than Peter - new Peter - at any rate, but cowardice is one of the things he could never accept. And taking the blind way, like Meyers did? 

It is cowardice. Cowardice and greed and selfishness, and Derek's sympathy just can't take root on that, no matter how crushed the driver may sound or look – and he is, the alcohol proves it if nothing else, as does the smell of guilt, so constant it almost became a basic component of the man's scent.

But it's not enough. Even when sincerity pours off Meyers as he adds, pathetic and weak, “I'm sorry”. His eyes are jumping from Derek, close to him, to Peter who has stepped back in the shadows while they were speaking. “I”m sorry, so, so sorry”. The lamentation is keen, terrible, meant with every once of despair the man possess.

It's not enough. Bright eyes, and shaking frame and choked off voice and hopelessness radiating by waves...but no. In a way, Derek is a bit shocked at his own utter coldness and impassivity in front of this man wrecked by his confession - but, as usual, Peter knows him too well. He was, once again, right.

To defend Peter, he'd kill anyone, and he cannot feel even the tiny bit of compassion for Garrison Meyers. He is not an arsonist, that much is true – not a killer. And any investigation would have been absolutely useless even if there had been one for actual suspicions of arson. The Hunters know how to cover their tracks.

And yet...He is part of it, in the end. Part of the fire, part of Peter's suffering. Not as much as others, not as much as Kate. But he is one of _them_.

And the killing blow was never his to deal, anyway.

“I heard enough”, he says decisively as he steps out of the way. He turns away to find red, red eyes looking at him from the shadows and he meets them evenly. The contours of Peter's body are barely outlined by the moonlight, but Derek can smell his satisfaction and the sudden spike of adrenalin accompanying it. “Do as you wish”.

There's a deep, rough growl, the flash of terrible fangs, and the dark shape of Peter hurls itself at Garrison Meyers, jaw wide open and ready to tear and rend.

Derek doesn't flinch at the sound of the first bone shattering under the pressure of terrible jaws.. Nor at the others. He doesn't avert his eyes either: he lost the right to this luxury the second he decided to let Peter kill the man. So he watches instead, in perfect silence, face inexpressive.

In the end, it's a quick death, if not a painless one (even if the Alpha is keeping him from screaming). Anyway, it's quicker that Derek would have expected, frankly, considering the state of Harris' body, or at least what Stilinski told him of it. But Peter seems to lose the urge to torture the man blind and slashes his throat instead after a few minutes.

Comparing to what Derek feared it's...surprisingly neat.

“That was...quick”, he remarks calmly as Peter releases his prey and rises. Their eyes met, and Derek doesn't flinch at the sight of Peter's face, covered in spurts of blood and worse, and a hint of a smile tugs at the Alpha's lips. 

“Didn't want you to faint on me”, he retorts, and Derek mockingly shows his fangs in faux-offended fashion. But deep down, he is rather relieved that Peter cut the show off, especially since he wasn't forced to: by their agreement, the Alpha can do as he pleases once Derek has gotten his proof. Peter could have turned this into a bloodbath.

He probably wanted to. But he didn't, out of care for Derek. It's beyond weird, that they'd both consider this as thoughtfulness – that the way to kill a man can be a show of concern and affection towards another. Anybody else would brand them as fucking psychopaths, the both of them. 

But in the world they're living in now, walking the path to merciless vengeance, everything is dark and twisted, or almost. The respites you find are, at best, only slightly less somber. Shades of gray, yes. But never shades of white. That's what Peter meant when he said you can be a remorseless killer and yet still love.

Peter will never come back. But did he ever truly leave?

The moment cements what was only mostly a loose agreement – to try and forget the old Peter in favor of the new one. Peter wouldn't kill that way, that's what Derek had been telling himself since the Alpha woke up. That's the rock he built all of his reasoning on: that he had to stop Peter, to help him come back...

But the truth is...Peter would have killed. Maybe not as bloodily, and probably not with such dark satisfaction. But he was just as ruthless before and after the fire. He still had this dark vein in him And what changed isn't so much as Peter himself as the fact that he's not hiding it anymore. The fire stripped him bare, in a way, rather than destroyed him.

Because he still can care, still can love. The rage was overwhelming when he woke up from the coma – and yes, at this precise moment, and the few following weeks, he was terribly dangerous to anyone around. Ready to kill indiscriminately, and Derek was right to cage him, without a doubt.

But not anymore – because _Derek_ asked. The only person he let come close. The only one Peter is ready to listen to, ready to bargain with. _I don't want to change back_ , Peter had said, and Derek had taken it badly, been offended of it. But in the end, now that the Alpha seem to have found his equilibrium between man and wolf back...

Why would he want to change again, when his newfound power can give him what he desires the most – and without even losing Derek in the deal? If the young wolf had the occasion of becoming Alpha during his lover's years of coma, he would have jumped at it, because it gave him exactly what he needed.

The power to protect what he cherishes, the ability to destroy any threat, and to claim revenge in Peter's name. If he could have...he would have wiped the Hunters out, from the Argents to the rest of them, blind to the consequences, too lost to his rage. He isn't so different from what Peter became, after all.

And what morals he has, and Peter doesn't...well. For all the Alpha's complains, he's also willing to listen – most of the time. Playing conscience and calming influence to Peter's savage drive for vengeance isn't such a problem, now, isn't it? He's been doing it for almost two months already, albeit arguably with varying degrees of success.

But the point is...They're okay now, or at least they found an equilibrium, as much as they can with their respective tendencies to snap right and left and generally have one hell of a temper. And Peter just proved he can be trusted to stop and think if the situation makes it necessary. No matter how changed, he can still adapt.

And he's still a man of his word – that's it, where Derek is concerned.

“Derek?”. Peter's voice tugs him back out from his musings and back to reality. The Alpha has a hand extended, probably expecting Derek to get them back home, and considering the sight note of tension in the man's tone, it's not the first call of his name. 

Derek forces himself to focus on the now – using his Gift without a clear head is never a good idea, especially with this death-by-teleportation trick of his. “Sorry”, he says with a faint, reassuring smile as he takes Peter's hand and squeezes it firmly. “Apparently, the philosophical thing is contagious”, he adds with a self-depreciative wince.

He expected a grin and a joke about it, but Peter's eyes narrow imperceptibly, shoulders straightening, chin lifting up, head tilted on the side: telltales of a werewolf on the wait and unsure of what's coming. “And what conclusion have you reached?”. The tone is light, but the seriousness is anything but.

Derek hesitates, aware of his lover's tense anticipation, braced for disgust or howls and rage – visibly, the young wolf wasn't the only one doing implicit testing tonight. But, try as he might, he is unable to truly put his earlier reasoning in a few words. Unable to sum it up in such a little form, even as he knows Peter deserves an answer.

“That we're okay”, he finally settles on. As far as announcements go, it's rather vague and uninformative, but it's all he can come up with at the moment. But Peter doesn't seem bothered by the cryptic statement. He nods thoughtfully, eyes slipping briefly over Meyer's body, and throws a true grin Derek's way.

“Yes. I think we are indeed, my love”. It's not much more communicative than Derek's words, but it doesn't matter, the young wolf muses as he closes his eyes and take a serene breath.

Maybe it won't last, but for tonight...they understood each other perfectly well.

***

The feeling of _wrong_ hits Derek at the same time as Peter's elbow crashes in his side. The blow is hard enough to crack a rib, and the dry, sinister sound of the suddenly broken bone echoes ominously in the room. 

Or it would have it it wasn't for the deafening close-quarters gunshot covering it. Derek goes with the momentum of his fall, catching himself in a painful roll, and slams the metaphorical lid down on his wolf earing at the same moment, just in time to not get his eardrums blown off.

With a foul curse, he rises back...only to throw himself down once more, ducking behind the sofa to doge another bullet. He has a second to see the man, and a second is more than enough for his species: brunet, tall, heavily muscled, two knifes at his belt and one more in his free hand. Standing like a soldier.

Hunter.

In fact, the plural would probably have been more adapted to the current situation, since Derek can smell at least five other, distinct scents alongside Peter's. There may even be more, but the odor of gunpowder and wolfsbane interferes with his nose – everything is unfocused.

Still, no need to be a genius to know what's going on. What Derek had been expecting and dreading in equal parts since Peter started killing off his targets has happened.

They've been found.


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And chapter 15!
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek doesn't hesitate – the sofa is, at best, a minute-lasting shelter, and he's not foolish enough to stay put and risk getting a wolfsbane bullet in the back through the couch. Taking cover is good when you have absolutely no choice. But Derek?

Derek always has a choice.

He vaults over the sofa, sees the Hunter's eyes flash as he readjusts his aim with perfect control. Not a hint of a flinch upon watching a fully wolfed out creature jumping in his direction, just a cold concentration, absolute and unwavering. His finger squeezes the trigger, and the bullet flies out, unstoppable.

It only meets empty air and crashes in the wall with a loud thud, cracking the concrete in long, spidery cracks. But of Derek, no sign, and the Hunter jerks backwards and whirls round swiftly, scanning the shadows, visibly expecting the werewolf to have hidden somewhere close. And Derek did, if not in the anticipated way.

He appears barely an hair's breath from the man just as he turns, leaving his back the perfect target for Derek to slice through, and the young wolf doesn't bat an eye as he slashes the Hunter's nape wide open, killing him in an instant by cutting the spinal column. It's swift, merciless and inescapable – no possibility of survival.

Derek may not like killing, but when he has to, he makes sure his enemies cannot rise up and stab him in the back later. 

Well. Alexander notwithstanding, obviously.

He pushes the thought away quickly, more focused on what's going on upstairs, and alarmed by what he's smelling – Hunters' blood, of course, but more importantly, _Peter's blood_ , and that's not normal at all. The Alpha should have gotten rid of his opponents without even lifting a finger, so what the hell happened?

He cautiously moves towards the stairs, even if it will rob him of the advantage of surprise he would have had by springing from literally nowhere into the fray. But he's unwilling to teleport over without knowing what's going on; he needs a general idea of the situation before that - if Peter is truly hurt, then fighting comes far after getting him out. Priorities.

As he ascends the stairs carefully, Derek mentally goes over any possibility, trying to understand what can have happened – it's just incomprehensible. He knows, of course, that Peter isn't indestructible, that he can fall and be wounded, but between his status and his Gift, he's as near to it as you can possibly be.

What the fuck had been going on over there that he would have gotten hit? And, more to the point, if he's out of the game, how is Derek meant to beat whatever has taken him down? He's gotten better, a lot better at fighting, and he sure as hell has mastery over his Gift. But he's a Beta, and Peter always has been the better fighter.

Derek curses in a low tone, and resolves to let his earing come back to normal. At the very least, he need to make certain that...For a second, he hears nothing, and then he pinpoints the heartbeat in Jen's old room. His lips thin. His lover is alive, yes, but the pulse is fast and shallow, not unlike tachycardia.

He bites his lip. Wolves do not have tachycardia, or too-quick heartbeats, for the simple reason that they have no need – it's rare that their bodies exhaust themselves enough to need to double-time the heat's rhythm, or to pant for air. A werewolf that's struggling for breath is either severely wounded or badly poisoned.

Shit. He still hoped this could be a rather minor wound altogether, but apparently, they are are well and truly fucked. He forces himself to keep his footsteps slow and perfectly silent, taking a deep, calming breath. This is just like the fire, just like the forest – he needs to keep a cool head. Panic never, ever helps.

Peter is visibly in bad shape, but jumping in the hands of whoever did that will only make everything worse. Derek swallows as he considers the worst possibility – if it comes to it, he could have to flee without his lover. It's the smartest choice: no one will come for Derek or Peter except each other. One of them has to remain free, no matter what.

It's not what Derek would have done, not what he wants – but, as he learned in three years, what you want doesn't mean much. What matters is what you need to do to attain your goal: the best way, the strategic choice, even if it goes against what you believe in. Derek despises murder but he still does it. It's the same thing.

He counts the other pulses, and finds only one left besides the Alpha's. As he expected, Peter took out most of his opponents – or, more likely, they took themselves out, if the killed Hunter from the forest is any indication. But still, there is one enemy left somewhere. In the bathroom, if Derek's hearing works correctly.

His eyes narrow, and he hesitates. His keen vision pierces the darkness with ease, and he can see that the bathroom door is closed shut, and almost no sounds come from behind it. The Hunter doesn't seem intent to get out and fight at the moment, and Derek weight his options as quickly as he can manage. Can he truly afford to leave a Hunter at his back now of all times?

Jen's room is at the very end of the corridor; that's where Peter is, and his heartbeat is getting more erratic as minutes pass – Derek has to get to him as swiftly as possible. Assess the damage, get him out if he can, if it's only a bad flesh wound. If it's wolfsbane poisoning...things will get more tricky. And it is poisoning, Derek's almost sure of it.

No matter how bad, a flesh would wouldn't worsen, or at least he doesn't think so – he has to admit that he doesn't have much experience in life-threatening injuries. For all of his fights over the years, he always managed to keep the damage rather minor: broken ribs, knife and flesh wounds, concussions and fractured skull...But it was nothing he couldn't heal from.

Still, healing is triggered by pain and stress; the higher either of these go, the more reactive the healing. And after a fight on four-to-one and an injury deep enough to leave him struggling for each mouthful of air, the healing should have jump-started long minutes ago. If it hasn't, it can mean only thing: something has tempered with it.

Wolfsbane, most certainly, even through the air is so permeated with the nauseating smell that Derek cannot know for sure if it's mixed with Peter's scent more tightly than the rest, or if his mind is just playing tricks on him – he walks by one of the Hunter's body, whose throat as been clawed out, and takes his decision.

Fuck the Hunter in the bathroom – he'll keep an ear on him to be warned if he moves, but Peter goes first. He crouches by the corpse, grabs the gun besides it and takes out the clip – he thinks about grabbing only one bullet, but having wolfsbane antidote on hand is always useful, especially if Hunters are on your trail, and he tucks the whole thing in his back pocket.

He rises, and, for all his earlier resolution, considers that passing in front of a door he could be shot through is a stupid risk – Hunters are assholes, but you don't live long where you're standing up against werewolves if you're not smart, prone to strategy and vicious in the bargain: and shooting through the door would be just that.

He takes a calm breath and vanishes as he expires, only to reappear in front of Jen's room, still as careful. Maybe it's overkill, but better be too cautious than not enough – hotheadedness gets you killed, and more importantly, gets the ones you love killed. His instinct screams louder and louder to get to Peter no matter what, now.

But instinct is the most basic part of himself. Sometimes, it can save you in primitive, animalistic ways that humans have forgotten how to use. And sometimes, listening to it can be the worst thing to do. Easier, perhaps, but foolish. Instinct is emotions, needs and necessities - utterly uncomplicated. But instinct cannot reason.

And reason is what Derek needs on his side at the moment – for it's reasoning, and not instinct, that will help his lover. Derek steps closer to the door frame, still keeping himself angled out of view, just in case, even if there's only well-known heartbeat n the room. The Alpha isn't the only one who can be paranoid. “Peter?” he calls lowly.

He has said it in the low rumble used by werewolves for discreet conversations between them and out of humans' earing range. A long silence answers him, filled with the harsh sound of breathing, and then a barely recognizable, “Yes”. Derek hears the effort put in the word, so he choses his next questions to be short and to the point. 

“Say yes or no”, he advises calmly, if somewhat urgently. “Are you alone? And your wound, it is wolfsbane?”. He keeps the verbosity to a strict minimum, aware of how little time they have. This isn't courtesy call or careful, gentle probing and questioning. He needs answers, and he needs them now.

“Yes to the second”, Peter grits out in a harsh hiss. “But...sniper”, he finally ends after a moment, visibly giving up on an detailed explanation. But again, Derek can fill the blanks easily. If Peter was focused on controlling the four Hunters, and maybe on keeping an ear on Derek as well, a shooter out of the house was probably the last thing he thought about.

And contrary to Derek, Peter cannot get out of a bullet's way at the last second.

It's clever, really. With a long-range weapon, and if you're far enough, you have a chance be out of the sphere of a werewolf's acute senses, especially if he is busy with fending off another attacks on a different front. And with the house reeking of wolfsbane and covering almost every scent...Yeah. Clever, truly. Derek wouldn't have seen it coming either.

He nods to himself. It's feasible. He'll just need to be quick about it. Like he did with Logan. One teleportation to grab Peter, and the second one in a row to get them both out of this damned trap. The trap... how did the Hunters found them? The question floats in his mind, as it has since the start of the fight, but he brushes it asides. Not now.

Getting out before everything else. “Where are you exactly?”, Derek asks, and mentally maps the room so he can know how to teleport over – a chance he actually knows the layout, because if he didn't...As it is, he can duck the sniper's threat if he calculates well. Even a excellent shoot needs more than a second to adjust his – or her – aim.

“By the desk. In the...corner”. The answer is hissed between clenched teeth, but perfectly clear nonetheless, and Derek would have expected nothing less: Peter knows pain better than many, and he has more of an iron will that anybody the young wolf can think of. The words are precise despite the suffering underlining them.

“Okay”, he says soothingly. And he means it, too. The desk is standing at the window's left, just at the angle of the wall – it's a good hiding spot, out of the sniper's firing line, and, more importantly, it allows Derek to go over without even having to duck a possible bullet. “I'm getting you out now, alright?”.

He vanishes, and Peter's interrogative, tense, “Bullet?” still echoes in his ears as he appears at the Alpha's side. “Got it”, he retorts, and grabs his lover's arm without giving himself the time to look at the mess of the Alpha's stomach – if he does, chances are he's not going to resist the urge to start treating him immediately, and that's not a good idea.

Instead, he closes his eyes once more, and they disappear in a heartbeat.

***

When he opens them again, their surroundings seem almost pitch black after after the brightness of man-made, electrical light.

But where humans would be blinded for a good two minutes, werewolves adapt. This case is no exception, and Derek's eyes take on a shiny, ice-cold glow as he quickly scans around. Truth is, he wasn't sure what to expect – he knows next to nothing about the place, bar the fact that it exists.

_It's besides the river, where we...you...at the place where you had a fight with Laura. After the big pine besides the cliff, there's a small path between the rocks. It's down there_ . Ethan's words come back to him easily enough, and a tired smile tugs at his lips. Who would have thought that just one little clue from way back could save his ass today?

He spots the looming pine easily enough, and, indeed, there is what seems to be a narrow path full of shadows just before the hard, unforgiving rock wall of the cliffs. He breathes a sigh of relief – plan B was to storm Brian's place, welcome or not, and that was truly a bad idea. But apparently he won't have to.

Christ. He owes Ethan big time on this one.

Derek bends at Peter's side, noticing the flash of pain in his eyes even if his lover's face stays mostly impassive. He has a hand pressed to the wound on his stomach, fingers white from how hard he's digging them into flesh – to stench the blood flow or distract himself from the wound's pain with another, Derek isn't sure. Probably both.

“Can you get up if I support your weight?”. Peter visibly pales at the idea of moving, but he nods fiercely all the same. It takes some savant maneuvering to get them both up and mostly stable, which is nothing for Derek, but leaves Peter flushed with sweat and beginning to shiver violently from the mix of effort, shock and poison.

Derek bites his tongue on a foul curse and concentrates on getting them in as fast as he can – he got as close as he dared by teleportation before once again, the problem of stepping in blind stopped him from appearing in the place. He has no idea of the layout, and he he doesn't think that they need more injuries at the moment from a teleport gone bad.

As they slip the slim fissure in the rock, heading steadily downwards, Derek considers the narrowness of the path and finds himself praying it won't get smaller in any way. If they cannot advance shoulder to shoulder anymore, their progression will become next to impossible: Peter barely can walk already, so if Derek has to let go? They're stuck.

Well. Not exactly, since he can always get they back out with a thought, but this place is Derek's only idea of a true, safe shelter – he doesn't trust the Hales or Deaton, and even less to bring them his injured lover, and going at Brian without Peter's Gift to smooth things over will be messy beyond any possible description. It's here or nothing, really.

But luck seem to grace them for once, because after a few more meters where the walls close on them to the point the sharp rock is grazing their shoulders, the tunnel starts to slowly go back up, getting more and more wider as they advance, and soon enough, they're standing at the entrance of a small cavern. 

The place is barely lighted – only as thin hole in the stony roof to let pass a hint of moonlight, and the hard, uneven ground is covered in dust and tiny, spiky gravel. Except that, it's absolutely empty, and painfully oppressive, and Derek feels this odd, tight sensation of claustrophobia he has developed over the years, like a strange counterpoint to his Gift. He closes his eyes briefly.

It's hardly perfection, especially with a wounded party, but it will do, no matter what Derek's stupid instincts say. At least, it's relatively warm – none of the cold and humidity the young wolf feared. But he supposes it makes sense: the climate is rather mild in the area, and wolves run hot enough to compensate when needed.

So, not a five stars hotel, but good enough. Neither of them are especially picky about comfort or luxuries – too used to surviving tooth and nail.

Satisfied with his overview of the cave, he readjusts his grip around Peter's waist and wrist. The Alpha has slumped almost all the way down on Derek, and he carefully coaxes Peter into moving again. “Just a few more meters”, he encourages gently. “I don't want you too near the tunnel's entrance”.

He supposes it's overkill to think of these little details, considering how fast Derek can whisk them out, but...better too safe than sorry. He quickly sheds his jacket, setting it on the ground, before helping Peter lie down behind a big rock, hidden where the shadows are the fullest, dark and unfathomable for anyone without an animal's worth of nocturnal vision. 

It's only after a last sweep of his superior senses that Derek relaxes enough to decide to seriously look at the Alpha's wound. He bends down, and puts a gentle hand over Peter's, still pressed against the bullet hole. The contact earns Derek a wild, cracked growl, his lover eyes fevered eyes flaring red in warning. The young man instantly lifts his empty palm in an appeasing gesture.

“Easy”, he murmurs. “Easy. I know it's painful, but it won't get better if you don't let me take a look”. Peter swallows raggedly, blinking up at him a few times before he slowly releases his hold and uncurls. Derek smiles as reassuringly as he can. “Thanks. I'll try to be as gentle as possible, but please don't claw my arm off if it hurts, okay?”.

While chatting away, Derek carefully pushes Peter jacket out of the way, and then peels his shirt off as well – he expected the wound to stick to the tissue, but the wolfsbane kept the blood flowing out instead of coagulating, and the soaked material comes away easily enough. Small victories, Derek muses darkly as he peers at the bullet hole.

He reaches under Peter, making a soft sound of apology when the Alpha chokes on a breath in visible pain, and slips a hand down his lover's back. His fingers meet teared flesh, and come back sticky with blood – the bullet apparently got right through, with is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it makes pulling it out unnecessary.

A curse because it means Peter is losing blood very fast, and his healing cannot keep up in any way, not with the poison running in his veins. The ridge of the hole is black already, spidery webs crawling up Peter's chest on the left side at frightening speed, like a clawed hand heading steadily for the Alpha's throat, and Derek clenches his teeth as he grabs the clip in his back pocket. 

He takes one bullet out and opens it carefully, revealing the black powder nestled in the steel's core. Alright. He can do this. While he may never had to resort to the actual procedure, it's one of the very first things he learned after the fire – to make sure that if a Hunter somehow managed to hit him or Peter, he'd know how to purge the poison out.

And besides, it's not like it's especially hard to do: he just needs the powder and a...”Lighter”, Peter gasps out, and Derek's head snaps to his with evident surprise. He thought the Alpha had fainted or at least was completely out of it. 'I have one...”.

“In the front pocket of your jacket, I know”, Derek ends with a slightly nervous smile, part-tense and part-angry. When Peter stares at him in disbelieving shock, Derek shrugs with a sigh. “In the last years, I turned into a very alert sleeper – I start awake each time something as much as twitch unnaturally. You're silent, but...well. I wake when you move, and...”.

“...I saw”, he finally ends, rather lamely, but this isn't the time for deep considerations.

“You...never said”. Peter is looking at him like he's expecting Derek to launch into a detailed explanation of his nightly spying hours on the Alpha – which wasn't done on purpose, thank you very much – and Derek rolls his eyes but stays focused on his task, getting the lighter out and pressing the powder into the wound.

“I'm telling you now, am I? Now stop moving, I don't want to fuck this up. We'll speak about your morbid fascination for flames later”. And without waiting for a reply, Derek braces a hand on Peter chest and sets fire to the wolfsbane. Peter's body arches under the pain, and a low whine escape him, but the black threads start slowly to recede, inch by reluctant inch.

The Alpha's body slumps back into a heap on the cavern ground as a slow trickle of black fluid oozes from the wound, proof that the healing is throwing off the last of the poison, a fact furthermore strengthened by the way Peter falls asleep with a suddenness and a speed that spells healing trance to the core.

Derek closes his eyes and lets himself crash on his back, head buzzy with exhaustion. He only allows himself a long minute before he rises up to a sitting position. No way he's getting to sleep – someone has to stand watch, and Peter is out of the game. In a way, it's reminiscent of the endless hospital vigils, if in a better way, since he knows for sure the Alpha's gonna wake up soon.

With a sigh, Derek shuffles backwards until his back is propped against the boulder, and he settles to wait, fingers playing gently with his lover's still long hair. He has a feeling this will be a long night.

***

Derek notices the change in Peter's breathing right away, from deep, rhythmic slumber to almost instant, tense wakefulness. “Everything's fine”, he announces lowly, and the older man relaxes visibly, even if he get up on an elbow.

“No signs of the Hunters?”. His eyes are still taking the place in a bit warily, but considering his state when they first got in, Derek can't truly blame him for not taking his word for it. Werewolves have watchfulness anchored in their very being, and they're both owe their lives to this particular instinct several times over.

“Nope. Nothing's moving”. Derek grimaces as he stands, and stretches luxuriously – he has kept close to Peter's side for almost six hours, unable to resist the urge to touch, the warmth of Peter's skin calming his irrational urge to get the fuck out of this tomb-like trap. And he's grateful for it, but he feels horribly sore, all over.

“I'm volunteering to get us something to eat”, he offers, even if he's already moving towards the exit. “I'm going to go mental if I don't get some fresh air. And then we'll speak of our next move”. He's almost at the tunnel when he hears Peter get on his feet, lithe as a cat, all trace of the earlier poison-induced ravages gone.

“I'm in”. Derek lets his raised eyebrow speak all the good he's thinking of that, but Peter still steps at side, looking unconcerned by the younger wolf evident disapproval. “I need to move as well”. He rolls his eyes at Derek's perfectly unconvinced cough. “It's the Alpha power – it...itches, not unlike way rope can burn if you push against it too hard”.

Derek blinks, before frowning, rather alarmed by that, because his lover made it sound like he hasn't harness the full power yet, and that's a bad perspective. The Alpha must feel it, because he scoffs. “You can calm down, I have no intention of tearing your throat out. The battle of last night simply...I guess you could say...woke it up”. 

“I just...need to prowl around for a bit, see for myself that we're safe, and it'll settle down”. Derek slowly nods – he knows how it feels to have instinct clawing inside your chest, the wolf straining to act even as you rationally know it's not necessary, nor the thing to do. It burns, like a gnawing kind of pain, pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

It's maddening in a Beta, or a least that's how it felt for Derek. So for an Alpha? He nods once again, this time dry and decisive. “Off to hunt we go, then”. He turns away and starts walking, only stop a few meters into the tunnel when he notices that his lover is not following. “Peter?” he calls, “You okay?”.

The Alpha joins him in less than a minute, a small smile playing on his lips. “I'm perfectly fine, thank you. I was just considering that this is exactly how most Hunters imagine us: living in a network of caves, deep into the woods...”.

“...and howling at the moon in concert?”, Derek ends with a laugh. “Yeah, I know. Show what they actually know about us”. He shakes his head, even if the tilt of his lips is still quirked up in honest fun. “Come on. I'm starving – let's keep the cliché going by finding ourselves a big jackrabbit”.

“To eat raw, of course”, Peter adds dryly, and the sound of their laugher echoes on the stone as they walk back to the surface.


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here chapter 16! 
> 
> Some of you will maybe recognize the quote from the Kushiel series used in this chapter. It was a perfect fit, and I love these books too much to not make a small reference. So, _Love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel_ , is from the book Kushiel's Chosen by Jacqueline Carey.
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter's voice rises, barely over a whisper in the dark of the cave, a murmur almost lost amidst the shadows. It's hours after their hunt, as they lie in silence side by side on the hard, ungentle stone ground, lost in their thoughts and musings.

“When did you notice?”. Derek has no need to ask what Peter is asking about, and the question is an easy one. Still, he stays silent a long minute, just breathing deep and calm, before he rolls on his side and up on an elbow. His lover's form is simple outline, about half a meter from him. He sighs.

“The second night”, he finally admits, keeping his tone mild and matter-of-fact. “I heard you get up, and...well. I didn't trust you. Not then. So I gave it about five minutes, and I followed”. He lies down on his back once again and closes his eyes. “I admit, seeing you playing with a lighter kind of freaked me out, but...”.

His voice falters and dies. How to explain his burst of sheer terror, terrible understanding, and yet horrible doubt? He could get it, in a way – it's the same fascination you can have for the edge of a knife, twirling it around between your fingers and knowing that any wrong move will end up in cuts. The morbid attraction for an object's ability to hurt or destroy.

How could he not get it, when the knife he carries on him always is the first Hunter's? 

And, at the same time, there had been this sensation of danger. The gripping, paralyzing fear that maybe, just maybe, Peter had broken all the way down and was ready to...he rubs a hand down his face. Yes, he had believed, for an honest second, that the Alpha was about to set fire to the house.

And then he had seen the way Peter was just flickering the flame in and out, over and over, lost in the contemplation of the play of the fire, shades of blue, orange and yellow mingled together, eyes red and hard and bright. Plunged so deep into his thoughts that he actually had missed the fact that his lover was standing here, a few meters away.

Derek had left swiftly, going back upstairs as quietly as possible, feeling like he had somehow breached Peter's privacy in the most violent manner. He had faked sleep as his lover had came back, and never dared to ask about it later.

He swallows. Even know, he's torn up about it – about seeing what Peter never meant to share. “I'm sorry”, he finally says. “I didn't meant to...spy, or anything close. And just...I could have stopped following once I knew, but...”

“But you didn't trust me”. The drawl wants to be mocking and careless, and it comes close, but the tension, coiled and hidden as it is, runs to deep not to show.

“No”. Derek pauses, takes a breath. “I mean, yes, the first time it was just that; mistrust and fear. But after...”. He emits a frustrated sound and rises to a cross-legged position, searching for a way to put this into words without sounding like a moron. “I wanted to be here, wanted to...I don't know”. Derek gives in and presses his fingers into his temples.

“It's...Okay, I came to see you every night when you were in coma, and it...well, it wasn't like you could actually feel me and know I was here, but I wanted to be. It's the same for this. I know it didn't help, me being here without you even aware of it, that you probably didn't even want it, but...Call it me being selfish”, he concludes with a mirthless smile. 

“Selfish”, Peter simply repeats, slowly, and his half open-eyes aren't glowing bloody red for once, just deep blue, turned black in the dark. Something that could be a laugh if it wasn't so dangerously close to a growl, or so full of contempt, breaks the silence, sudden and harsh, and Derek instantly braces himself – he knows that sound far too well.

“Were you so afraid I was going to hurt myself? To...cope by, what, burning the house down? Repeating patterns?”. Derek can't help but flinch at the oh-so-well adjusted remark, and he inwardly cruses Peter's uncanny ability to always know exactly where to hit.

“I thought”, he says with as much dignity as he can muster, “that you shouldn't be...alone”. Which is stupid and kind of twisted since the Alpha didn't know he was here, but it's the truth laid bare, as weird as it is – and if it's a testimony to the ways Derek is broken too, well...maybe, in the end, between their respective pieces, they can make something whole.

Doesn't mean he's going to let himself be the subject of Peter's bad moods upon touchy questions, either, and his voice is dry as a whiplash as he adds, “What about you? Are you so afraid I'm finally going to learn what makes you tick?”. Derek's voice largely equals Peter's for icy disdain and malicious hurt.

He learned to hit back from master himself, after all, and the Alpha was nothing if a thorough teacher during his month of instinct-driven cruelty. But what Derek has and always had is a temper; and when Peter stays terribly cool as he spits out words sharp enough to cut, the young wolf's rage takes over in a matter of seconds.

He knows how to control his fierceness, right up until the moment he doesn't. Not with Peter, never with Peter. The man can get under Derek skin faster than you can say it, can make him feel worshiped or teared into shreds all in the space of the same heartbeat – and he hates it. 

_He's as easy to manipulate as a nettle bush_ , Peter had said, and maybe it's true for others, for ones such as James or Logan, because Derek is undeniably volatile, mercurial and something close to chronically unable to take orders without disputing them first. At length. 

But Peter is another level altogether, because he knows Derek inside out, every weakness and crack learned almost by heart, while Derek...Derek doesn't know him, not anymore. He was coming close before the fire, when Peter was open and ready to share. But the Alpha sitting on the ground a meter away? He isn't letting Derek in, not when it matters.

And Derek would be ready to give him time, if Peter wasn't free - and willing - to use every one of his lovers' flaws each time he feels angry or betrayed or generally backed into a corner. It makes Derek feel like he's trying to fight his way blind while the older man waltzes up and away after one or two scathing sentences, free as you please.

So Derek does what's probably the worst way to handle this, Peter in a somber mood: he snaps, his words turned vicious by his risen hackles and the angry maelstrom of thoughts dancing his his head. “So, I don't trust you. Big deal. Because that's so surprising, isn't it, when you're going from ready to murder me to asking me to come with you over a fortnight. Christ, what do you except me to do? Yes, I was wary of you. Sorry if that offends you sensibilities”.

Peter's eyes flash red this time, and he rises in turn, opens his mouth...

...and his head snaps suddenly to the side, nostrils flaring like a predator catching a scent. “Someone's here”. Any anger or irritation has vanished from his voice or demeanor, and Derek is just as focused, the argument forgotten in a second. The younger wolf scents the air, but nothing seems out of place, and he cannot hear any suspicious movement either.

He knows Peter wouldn't have risen alarm for no reason, but...”Close?”, he asks in a whisper. But he doubts it – more likely, the intruder must have entered in reach of Peter's Gift. He can still be rather far away, which explains Derek incapacity to pin him down. The Alpha's next words promptly verify that theory.

“No. About...three miles south”. Derek twitches at the announce of how much ground Peter's Gift can cover, but he keeps silent as his lover continues. “I can only follow him. Getting in his head is too hard, more-so at this distance. But even when he'll get close...It's a werewolf”, he adds by way of explanation, and Derek nods grimly.

Werewolf is marginally better than Hunter, but still, Peter and Derek aren't so loved in the community these days. The shit about Logan's death hasn't hit the fan yet, but even with that out of the equation...Peter, Gifted and dangerous, was never liked to start with, and Derek is the Hale who turned his back on his Alpha, his family, and his Pack – an unforgivable breach of loyalty. 

There's little chance anyone out there will take the risk of helping. The best they can get, probably, is someone who'll agree to turn a blind eye; and even that is unlikely. They're on Hale territory, and three quarters of the family despises Derek and hates Peter. As for the rest, they are utterly indifferent to their fates – the fate of two Omegas.

“Are they really coming toward us? If they're still three miles away, maybe they'll just change direction or something?”. Peter doesn't dignify that with an answer, and Derek admits that it's, for once, deserved. _Turning off to the side, you wish_ , he mentally mocks. When does everything ever goes well for them anyway?

He nods, lips pressed in a thin line. Three miles for an human takes about one hour to go. For a werewolf, who's most certainly running - because their kin loves to run at the smallest opportunity - and for a Hale to boot, knowing the forest like the back of his hand? Give it fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if it's one of the youngs.

If they get out, there's a big chance they'll end face-to-face with them, whoever they are, and another killing won't make anything better. On the other hand, staying here means having the wolf stumble on them in approximatively twelve minutes, and there is no world in which that would end well. And yet, even if they flee...where to?

They have no allies, no friends. Their HQ, or what stood for it, has been stormed on and is now certainly under tight watch. The Brian possibility is still open, but going back in town is far too dangerous at the moment – not with Hunters on the prowl. The sniper proved they weren't safe enough, even with their Gifts thrown in the mix.

Derek meets Peter's eyes in the dark, and he knows they have reached the same conclusion: all they can do is wait for the unknown wolf and bring him down before he can rise alert about the two Omegas hidden deep into the Hale's territory. He nods once, eyes hard. “Here or outside?”.

Peter tilts his head as he considers the question. Outside means more space to attack and better hidden spots for a ambush, but it's also the best way to let the wolf know they're coming at him – the wind is against them, today, blowing from the north. Oh, not that Derek doubt they can overpower the intruder. 

But the risk of alerting other wolves in the area is high: the scents of blood and rage and fear are very powerful, and easily discernible even from afar. At least by keeping the fight inside, they could cover their tracks partly – the cavern runs deep enough that any scent coming from within is mostly lost in the dark and the smell of the earth.

So in the end, the best is probably...”The tunnel”. They say it at the same time, utterly confident, and exchange a dark, amused glance. The tunnel indeed, with its terribly narrow path – they can block the intruder right here, Peter from inside, Derek by teleporting in behind the wolf. If they calculate well, the walls, far too close, will incapacitate their opponent perfectly.

And then, it will only be a question of...Derek frowns, biting his lip. “Do we kill them?”, he asks – to himself more than to Peter, really, but the Alpha answers nonetheless, eyes wary, watching Derek's reactions very closely.

“Would you mind?”, the Alpha twists the question easily to get to the core of the problem, and Derek doesn't bother to try to be difficult or to lie. Not when they have so little time and when their lives may be on the line.

“Yes”, he says with brutal honesty, and Peter clicks his tongue in an exasperated fashion. But before he can add anything – probably some cutting remark about his lover's unwillingness to be merciless even with more dead bodies under his belt than he can count, Derek swallows and ends. “But I will do it if they try to kill us”.

He's sorry, sorry for the wolf, sorry if it's family, but it's the only thing to do. If word of their presence goes back to the Hales...Derek has no idea what could happen. A hunt at best, a bloodbath at worst – he isn't ready to take the risk. He hates himself for how selfish he has turned, but he will protect his life at any cost.

His and Peter's. Nobody else is dearer to him. It's too late to care about others, especially in a life-or-death situation, or what will most certainly become one. _Kill or be killed_ . It's just like when he was protecting Peter, when it was the Hunters or his lover. He had never hesitated, then. Never flinched.

And yet, somehow, protecting his own life at the same cost feels infinitely worse.

***

“Accelerating”, Peter murmurs from somewhere behind his back. “Too fast for one of the youngs”. Derek nods his acknowledgment – and his appreciation of the precision; it's already bad enough to hit on family, but Mary or Ethan...or John, even...Yes, facing an adult is a relief.

A part of his guilt comes loose with the knowledge, and maybe it makes him a coward or an hypocrite. But Derek isn't made to be ruthless, not without forcing himself to be. Oh, he can push when necessary, bypass his morals if it's the only way. But still, taking the drop on a fifteen year old, or close...

Yeah. He won't lie and say the possibility didn't leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Standing up to an adult is much easier. It's not like Derek appreciate or respect them much anyway – that was destroyed when they announced to his face that they wouldn't protect Peter, leaving him defenseless against any Hunter coming through.

Ready to abandon the man who had saved their lives to protect themselves and their Pack. Well. Maybe Derek learned more than he believed from them all: defend what you will, what you cherish, with all your strength, no matter the cost. No matter if you leave a trail of blood in your wake, or shattered trust and bruised hearts. No matter how much of a betrayer you become. Derek's eyes narrow. He is what he chose to be, but before his will comes into it, he's also what they made him when they rejected him.

Alone. Omega. Weak and little and insignificant, the kind of person you can throw into terrible danger without caring what happens or what it makes of them. What Derek is today is born of that, and it's not a nice legacy – what did they gave him, that he should hesitate to strike any of them? _They_ never pulled any punches.

His old anger finally comes to the surface, and he clings to it, pulls his lips back in a wordless snarl, fangs flashing. If you don't kill first, they kill you. If you don't walk away first, they leave you bleeding out in the dirt, metaphorically or otherwise. The only one who didn't do it – or rather, who finally chose not to, is Peter.

“A dangerous anchor, my love”. Derek clenches his jaw but doesn't turn to meet Peter's eyes, even through he can feel the laser focus on his back. “Anger is volatile. Uncertain. Mindless and stupid. Believe me, you don't want it settled in your core. It will only make you reckless, blind and easy to manipulate”.

This time Derek actually whirls round. “Because hatred is so much better, of course”, he sneers savagely. “That's why you got a bullet through the stomach in the last twenty-four hours? Because hatred gives you so much cunning and intelligence?”. Peter rises a very unimpressed eyebrow at Derek's violent, biting tone.

“Not hatred”, he retorts coolly, words precise and perfectly calm in front of his lover's sudden, fierce snap. “Never hatred, not anymore. Hatred is exactly like rage – it's what you saw of me when I was caged and blinded to any reasoning beyond the idea of killing indiscriminately”. Peter tilts his head thoughtfully.

“Not hatred, no. I'd say...vengeance, if you truly want to know. Vengeance, and how to get it. There is rage, and grief and pain as well, but the focus is always cold, hard revenge. Planning and strategy and ruthlessness”. Derek hears the faint rustle of cloth, sole indication that Peter is moving at all, and then there's a palm on his back, pressure gentle yet firm.

The warmth of Peter's body seem to slip on his skin even through his jacket, and the young wolf closes his eyes briefly, the simple contact enough to center him in a way his anger never quite managed to – the Alpha was right. Rage may feel like focus and control, but it's not in the end. He sighs, and Peter moves closer, a tight line against his back.

“I'm not saying you need to embrace my path”, he says gently at his lover's ear. “But anger isn't enough, Derek. Your anchor needs to be something you can rely on no matter what, steady and solid beyond any doubt”. A nuzzle into his hair. “Find it. Whatever you want, however you can make it work. But not that, love. Not that”.

Derek sighs, suddenly feeling very tired. He half-put his weight on Peter, leaning into him. “Sometimes I feel like anger is the only thing propping me up”, he murmurs. “It's easier to keep going when anger sustains you. So much easier”. Peter nods against his shoulder in silence – of course, he of all people would understand.

He closes his eyes and turns his head to press into Peter's neck. “I'll think about it”, he finally says. It's all he can promise at the time. Reaching into the rage at the pit of his stomach has become dangerously close to an habit already – it's a primary, instinctive emotion, and the urge to tear and rip and protect, himself or another, is something his wolf understands and answers to. 

Which isn't such a good thing: you're better off having a fully human anchor. Something the animal part of you cannot relate on – revenge, for example, does not mean anything for a wolf, and the sheer logic of it is what has allowed Peter to harness the Alpha power rather than endure it. Derek understands the process perfectly clearly.

And he knows, deep down, that anger or rage aren't good things to cling to when trying to keep his head or push his instinct back under the surface. But his old anchor, his Pack, is gone, and he's not foolish enough to try and anchor on people once more. The possibility is out here, but Derek isn't ready to risk anchoring to Peter.

He'll _never_ be that dependent on someone again. Never.

But he recognizes the truth of Peter's warning all the same. “I'll...keep it in mind”. He tilts his head so he can kiss his lover's jaw, thankfulness and apology and affection tangled in one. These little gestures are rather rare between them – mostly because even a tame touch tends to become like a glide of fire, and they often fall in bed for the lightest kiss.

“And I'm sorry, truly”, he adds after a minute of just breathing in into his lover's neck. “ For mistrusting you. Following you around. Whichever”. He smiles ruefully as he rises his eyes to Peter's. “Or both, really”.

Peter's mouth quirks in answer, and he shrugs, graceful and yet managing to express an apology in the lissome movement . “I suppose you had good reasons for it. When all is said and done, I _am_ sorry for what I did. Sending Jen on you was going too far, nevermind how rightful my anger over being caged was at the time”. He throws a pointed glance to the younger wolf. “Which in fact makes my point about rage and anchor quite nicely”.

Derek swallows. He didn't realize how much he actually needed the apology before Peter gave it – well, not necessarily the excuses in themselves – as Peter said, they're quite even in that department - but the simple fact of hearing the Alpha admit that trying to kill Derek of all people was a mistake. Something gone too far.

A loss of control rather than a true, pure will to kill him off. It doesn't make it any more alright, of course. Derek thinks he'll need a fair bit of time before he stops snapping awake each time Peter moves, or watching his back even when he knows the Alpha is behind him and theoretically taking care of it.

When it's in the middle of a fight, wolf on the surface, the question goes right out the window – he'd offer his throat to Peter without batting an eye, secure in the knowledge that the older man will never hurt him of his free will. Wolves don't doubt loyalties, don't held grudges, don't feel betrayed. The animal part of him has no problem with the Alpha.

It's Derek who has difficulties shaking off his lingering doubts about Peter – it's a question of broken trust between lovers, terribly human and messy. And, in a way, Derek wonders if a part of the anger boiling in his gut isn't anger _at_ Peter. At how much he hurt him, and then left because his vengeance came first.

At how betrayed he felt when he realized that his reward for three years of fights and wounds and blood was to be left behind, like an object that has had its uses and can be thrown to the side. _I hate you, and yet at the same time I don't._ Derek steps away from Peter's loose embrace, aware that he has gone too tense for the Alpha not to notice.

He had thought “hate” was too harsh of a word; had thought he could never, ever hate Peter. It was bullshit. Because he does – as much as he is madly in love with him as well, when he thinks on it, when he allows himself to stop and truly _feel_ ...He hasn't forgotten, or forgiven. That will take time, too.

Much, much more time that Derek would have reckoned, when he foolishly believed that love would be enough to heal all wounds. _Love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel_ . He doesn't know where the words come from, doesn't remember where he read the quote – but it's a perfect fit, in a glorious, terrible way.

He lets out a short, mirthless bark of silent laughter, and sees Peter tilts his head inquisitively out of the corner of his eye, but Derek just shakes his head. He's not ready to share, not that. Not yet. He wants to have the time to think it over, without resentment clouding his judgment or turning his words ugly. It's for later.

And for now... “So. How close is our guest?”. If there's one trait they share, Peter and him, it's the ability to not push and allow the other his time. Peter doesn't ask, doesn't call Derek on his behavior or remark on the clumsy, evident change of subject.

“Less than ten minutes”. The temperature around the Alpha seems to go up briefly, the sign of his Gift at work. “I suspect they have caught our scent, actually. They've slowed down rather brutally, and they're approaching the entrance”. Derek nods. The shelter of the rock, earthy scent will vanish in about a minute, as the intruder gets closer to them.

And unless he's an idiot, his first instinct will be to turn tail and flee rather than take on two Gifted at once – or at least, that's what Derek would do, but again he has an unfair advantage on most people when it comes to getting the hell out of dodge. Still, there is a big change they'll try to run. Up to him to get in the way.

He fixates his eyes on Peter as seconds go past. A hint of a scent tingles his nose, seemingly familiar, but he pushes it aside, absolutely focused on the Alpha's face. One heartbeat. Two. Three...Peter nods finally, short and decisive, and Derek is vanishing instantly.

He reappears in the narrow tunnel, about two meters from the wolf's back, whose scent hits him even before they whirl round, as fast as possible in the situation. Red eyes, furious and defiant, and yet fear and shock dancing in their ruby depths. Derek smiles, twisted and darkly amused in front of the utter disbelief on the woman's face.

“Hey, Sis. Long time no see”.


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And chapter 17 (or, where Derek show he's a little broken too). Betaed, as usual, by El!
> 
> On a side-note, I hope you'll bear with me on a rather lenghty evocation of fighting prowness - because the way the TW characters fight is both ridiculous and terribly ineffective. Most of all, I always found Derek's acrobatics incredibly stupid and useless. A born wolf should know better than that, especially as he fights often. So...yeah, I may rise the point in here somewhere ;)
> 
> Hoping you'll like it!

Laura's eyes are wide as she details him, apparently momentarily spellbound by his presence. It is true that they stopped moving in the same circles years ago, and with her leaving for university, it's not like they've seen much of each other recently.

He lets her watch, conscious of the toll left on his stance and general attitude by repeated battles: on alert even when relaxed, tension running his his muscles constantly, and hazel eyes gone somber with cold determination, tinged with the slightest hint of blue from the wolf always close to the surface. To her, probably a stranger, or something close to it.

But he isn't the only one who has changed. Laura always was level-headed and controlled, but she has brought her self-control to an art – mere seconds after she spots him, her face clears, leaving only impassibility behind. Maybe, just maybe, a flash of anger passes trough her voice as she says, shoulders squared. “Derek. You have no right to be here”.

Her head is held high, hair tied back in a ponytail as opposed to her years-past way of wearing it loose, bringing out her face in plain light. Lips thinned to a slim line, eyes red and narrowed: mistrust and tension at their most evident, for one able to read these little clues. And no matter what happened between them, Derek grew up with her. 

He knows her, and she is far less calm than she's trying to look.

But before Derek can answer anything, a cool voice rises over his, streaked with a false apologetic tune. “I fear Derek's choice of destination is mostly my fault. We were in a somewhat...difficult situation”. Laura's shock upon seeing her brother, considerable as it is, has nothing on the way she turns the most satisfying shade of white Derek has ever witnessed as the words ring.

His feeling of satisfaction is a like vicious, fierce surge of amusement, and his lips twist in a defiant sneer. _Didn't thought you'd see him again, did you? Not after abandoning him half burned to death and running away to LA_. He watches with dark pleasure as she pales ever further and slowly turns around. “Peter? How...”. 

The rest of the sentence dies, and she steps back with a start and a shocked noise when the older wolf eye's flare ruby red in answer. “Not _all_ of you choose to left me to die, Laura”. Peter tilts his head, peering at her like she's a curious insect to observe closely. “But I'm more surprised about you. What are you doing here? I've been out of the loop for a few years, I'll admit, but shouldn't you be in class at this university of yours?” .

He meets Derek's eyes over her shoulder as he says it, the silent question made clear by the inquisitive, barely there rise of an eyebrow. Derek nods his agreement a bit dumbly – he didn't think of this. He can vouch for Peter's statement, through: university's still going at mid-fall. No holidays, not yet, so Laura must have dropped everything to come.

But why? Not for them, her surprise is genuine. Well, that or she became an incredible actor while she was away, but he doesn't think so – her wordless shock and flinch at Peter had been born of true, frightened stupefaction, both at his scars and at the simple fact of seeing him up and walking. So why?

There are the killings, Derek considers. He understands Peter's reasons, can bow to the seemingly catharsis his lover found in their violence even if he personally doesn't fully accept it – but no matter how you see it, there is one, undeniable fact about their actions: they certainly weren't discreet. It was bound to attract attention sooner or later.

The Hunters got the jump on them first, mostly because they knew the reason behind the kills and they were actually – and rightfully - alarmed at Peter's disappearance. The Hales, on the other hand, stayed very well out of it. Except Ethan - and even then, the kid restricted himself to simply ask if Peter was okay – nobody in the family tried to rise questions.

They left it to the police and the Hunters, and it was one less wrench in an already precarious, dangerous work, so Derek had just gone with it and kept a low profile when he stepped in the Preserve. Except now Laura is here, and even through Derek doubts she came for Peter specifically, she's not stupid.

Kills looking like animal attacks plus Peter suddenly turned Alpha...Yeah. The connection is hard to miss. In fact, Derek suspects that what truly gave them away, more than Peter butcheries, is his own murder of Jennifer – he didn't use his claws, but she still was an evident link to his lover. Too evident: finding her unmistakably lead to her last, missing patient.

He should have buried her as well, but he had been too wounded, body and heart, too shell-shocked and seething over the realization, when he had spotted the vacant look in her eyes, that this hadn't been Jen's doing but Peter – the very man he had killed to protect had just tried to kill him in turn, and Derek had been shaken to his core, unable to think.

But his mistake has a price, because it looks like the Hales decided to walk in the game as well – Laura's return, as Alpha-to-be, can only mean a family council. And no matter the subject of discussion, may it be Peter, the killing in town, the Hunters moving or – even worse – Logan's demise, it's bad for them.

Having no allies is one thing they are both well-used to. They manage between the both of them. They always did. But suddenly having enemies on all sides...Being surrounded is far, far more dangerous. _Us against the world is for fools_. When you're _that_ outnumbered, either you manage to get rid of one side and use the breach, or you die under the numbers.

Derek inwardly curses. Peter's lips have thinned as well, and he looks somber – their trains of thought must be similar, even if the Alpha has admittedly a much better grip on the whole “big picture” thing. Still, no need to be a genius to see that their situation got from rather bad to fucking nightmare.

Derek takes a centering breath. He needs to treat one problem at time, and the most evident at the moment is currently glaring into his face in every sense of the term. He has no need to consult with Peter, not on this; they move at the same time without a hint of hesitation. The Alpha advances from behind, restraining Laura by pinning her arms to her body, and Derek grabs her shoulder at the same time.

They vanish, only to rematerialize deep into the cave. He has been careful to not will Laura too safe, concentrating on Peter instead, and the result is close enough of what he hoped for: the young woman is pale and visibly disorientated as they arrive, swaying slightly on her feet. 

It's not severe damage in any way – Derek isn't even sure how much he can actually deal on werewolves, considering their superior healing - but it's enough to keep her from fighting them, at least for a moment. Of, course, Laura is Alpha-to-be and sharp on the top of it, so she quickly gets over it to round on them.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” she hisses furiously. Her indignation is palpable, and the thin veneer of calm, already weakened by shock and mistrust, finally breaks. She steps back from them, moving back in the darkness, coiled like a snake ready to strike, eyes eyes turned into hard, red-glinting slits. “What do you want?”.

She is visibly furious, but there's also a very cautious air about her, even something close to fear as she swallows. She's looking for a way to get past them, Derek is certain of it, just like he knows who she'll choose to attack in order to do so – after all, the last time they sparred, she beat his sorry ass without even trying, and Peter had to come to the rescue later on.

Who better to fight with than the weak link of the chain? It's exactly what Derek would do were he in her place – it's not only the chance to get free, but even maybe to get leverage out of the bargain, by threatening to kill the defeated party. 

Of course, this kind of blackmail only works if the involved persons care about each other; but Derek fears it's a bit late to play aloof on this point. He stayed by Peter's side for three years, losing all the – admittedly badly teared already - ties left to his Pack to do so. And with Peter's earlier comment implying Derek's help in turning Alpha...

Yeah. They're definitely busted about that – they are, for better and worse, the other's biggest weakness. And Laura's far too smart to not jump on the occasion, metaphorically as well as literally. In fact it turns out to be very literal, since she suddenly lunges at him without any warning whatsoever and at full Alpha speed.

She didn't even as much as twitch before rushing forwards, and even through he expected it, Derek's surprised enough that he cannot dodge the assault; but he reacts as a fighter, twisting as his sister hits him, Laura's lighter weight making it easy to land on top and backhand her forcefully in the face. He's only aiming to daze her: the goal is not to kill.

Well. Not for Derek at least; but Laura, on the other hand, don't bother with niceties, and her superior strength allows her to reflexively throw him off her chest even while grunting from the hard blow. Derek lands in an easy roll, getting back to his feet without damage, even if he's painfully aware of the opportunity he just missed.

If it had been a fight to the death, he would have slit her throat the second they hit the ground, no questions asked. But it's not. And that's more of a bother to him than he wants to admit: he is so used to killing his opponents at the first occasion, to brutally ending the fight as soon as possible, that fighting to restrain has become strangely alien.

When Derek fights, he generally has two ways: either he comes up with some ace in his sleeve (often wolfsbane, ash or rowan - or blackmail), or he attempts to end the fight before it truly begins – aiming for vital points, helped by bursts of speed, reflexes, or if the adversary is truly upper class, his Gift (the later having a tendency to allow him a neat conclusion rather quickly).

He never lets combats drag too long; it means the enemy can take his measure, and begin to notice weak points or openings in his guard. He has also stopped any classy acrobatics or growls and posturing – it's a waste of time and energy, not to mention a sure way to nicely warn your opponent that you're about to attack.

You shift, you hit, purposefully and always without mercy, and you end it as quickly as you can. By playing these cards, Derek has always managed to end a fight in minutes – one single weak point targeted at the right moment is all it takes. No long sequences of hits, no over-parrying like in karate films. Just ducking, staying on the move waiting for an opening...

...and running your adversary through, without stopping until you're sure he's most definitely dead.

His style is absolutely not adapted to the current kind of fight going on. He darts to the side, dodging a vicious kick, and barely aborts his knee-jerk reaction of slashing at the main artery of the thigh as he ducks. He hisses a curse between his teeth, falling back on the defensive once more – but with Laura's strength, parrying feels like trying to absorb the hits of a sledge-hammer. 

He won't last long at this rate. He used to be a lot more adaptable three years ago, but too much has changed since; too much fights against too powerful opponents: trying to knock out somebody who already outclasses you is near impossible and frankly, quite crazy – case in point, his insane plan with Logan, which almost blew into his face.

And Laura is the better fighter here, Derek is not gonna lie about it. He won't get her like this, by dodging all around and letting her set the rhythm. And with Peter who doesn't seem to be ready to get a move on in any way or form...His wandering reflexions earn him a solid elbow to the temple, and a hard meeting with the rock wall at his back.

The scent of blood fills his nose, and with it comes a savage, unstoppable surge of adrenalin. Derek snaps back to his feet, reaching out to brush the red liquid and hair falling on his eyes. There is no blue glow in them anymore, but the cold, ruthless focus into their now hazel depths is infinitely more dangerous.

Any trace of wolfing out has disappeared, an old reflex from fighting in the hospital, a public space where allowing himself to shift beyond nails and pupils was too much of a risk. If he had been seen by anyone else than Jen...So he had learned. No howls, no growls, no game-face on. Not even eyes, on case of cameras. Only his claws remain.

It's too easy for him to forget, as he falls into kill-or-be-killed mode, that he has been taking out about three adversaries by month for the last three years, battle hardened-men with a true intent to kill and maim. Blinded by survival instinct, he forgets that, when he truly hits, he knows exactly how to do deadly damage.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter suddenly straighten, eyes narrowing at Derek, moving towards them with the evident intention to put an end to the fight before one of them truly gets hurt, but Laura visibly hasn't noticed the grim change in her brother's stance and face, and she attacks anew.

But this time, Derek doesn't dodge and flee – you cannot win while being on the defensive. He simply twists just enough to escape the claws aiming at his stomach, and he hits, spot on at the throat, with all his strength. There's an horrible sounding _crack_ , and Laura chokes helplessly, swaying and falling back on pure instinct, trying to put some distance between them.

But Derek follows, with a flurry of precise, terrible hits. He steps into her broken guard, aiming a fist to the liver, and deals a severe gash to the stomach. And as she double over, hands going to clench on the nasty, profusely bleeding rip on her womb, she's stupid enough to leave her throat bare.

She understands her mistake almost the second she makes it, wide red eyes meeting Derek's, shocked and yet hoping, like she doesn't believe that he will move in for the kill. But the young man's eyes are glacial and assessing, without a hint of pity, arm ready to tear through her jugular vein. He darts forwards... 

And hand closes around his wrist, wringing his arm behind his back violently, the grip vice-like and yet strangely careful, like whoever is restraining him doesn't want to hurt him. The more fool them, Derek decides, as the too-gentle hold gives him enough leeway to half-twist back and aim a savage elbow right at the man's throat.

Or it would have, except the wolf's eyes flash red, and he catches Derek's flying arm with ease. He doesn't seem to take badly to the attempt to kill him, through; if anything, the smile on his lips is remarkably pleased, like Derek's abilities are a source of enjoyment. Still, his red eyes narrow when the young man tries to break the hold once again.

“All you'll manage is to break you own shoulder, my love”. The tone is amused in a condescending way, something that would make Derek's hackles rise in any other circumstances. As it is, he just snarls, and, heedless of the sound of bones breaking ominously, whirls round to sink a knee right into the crotch of the Alpha holding him.

His adversary saw him coming, through, like he inexplicably knows his way of fighting, and cants his hips on the side so Derek's hit is deflected harmlessly to his thigh instead, and follows through with a perfect, inescapable knock down – Derek crashes on his back with enough violence that he's totally winded. He still manages to roll away to get back up, and...

“ _Enough_ , Derek!”. The Alpha power washes over him like an tidal wave, and he comes to an abrupt stop as he was readying himself to attack again – the order is not enough to arrest him fully through. He has stopped his assault, but he rises dark, assessing eyes at Peter, like he's still calculating the best way to take him down.

“Derek”. This time, it's no command – the voice is calm, soothing, and Derek finds himself hesitating for a second. “It's alright. She's down, see?”. The Alpha steps to the side, and indeed the girl he was fighting is knocked out cold on the ground. “We're safe. The threat is under control. Come on, love. Come back to me”.

Derek frowns. There is not any sign of anger or imminent attack from the Alpha facing him, and he blinks, unsettled. Peter sees the killer mindset slowly recede to leave a confused, strangely torn expression behind, and pushes a little more. “We're fine. So now, I need you to _stand down_ ”. He infuses just a hint of Alpha will in his voice, to be sure to get through Derek.

The young wolf looks at him for a few more seconds, and then his eyes suddenly clear and he shakes his head, taking a step back. His body finally relaxes from his fighting stance, and the deadly unrecognition from earlier vanishes. Derek swallows convulsively, eyes straying to Laura's prone body. “Did I...”.

“No”. Peter answers before he can even finish his sentence. “No, I'm the one who knocked her unconscious – she's perfectly fine”. He shrugs. “Except for the bruise on her nape, that's it. I may have hit stronger than strictly necessary, but I didn't to risk her waking up while...”. He trails off, watching Derek somewhat warily.

“While you got me under control as I was losing it?”, the young man ends with a mirthless, if tired smile. “Yeah. I get it.”. He sighs, racks a slightly trembling hand through his sweaty hair. He closes his eyes a second, furious at his loss of control – he should know better than to let himself go rogue that way. He should.

And he would have. He was fucking fine up to a point – if Peter had actually moved his sorry ass rather than playing spectator...“Pity you didn't think of stepping in sooner”, he spits - the bitterness in the words is evident, and unfair, because Derek lost it all alone, and Peter has naught to do with it. But he can't help it.

He levels a dark glare at the Alpha who's watching him without a word. “Did you enjoy the show at least?”. The acidic tone could strip the paint off a wall, but the elder wolf doesn't flinch.

“I know you're angry, but resentment doesn't suit you. Especially not when your hands are shaking that badly”. Derek instantly crosses his arms before he can think better of it – it's a reflex, to hide any trace of weakness. The idea that Peter already saw him earlier is humiliating enough. He steps back as well.

“I...”. The words die in his throat, and he takes one more step away from Peter. He needs space, all of a sudden. Wants to be away from his lover inquisitive, questioning eyes – it's too much. Worse than all is the _understanding_ , the absence of judgment, like losing control to the point of being ready to kill off anybody around is pardonable.

Through his back and head are bowed, he sees Peter move out of the corner of his eye, like he's about to approach Derek to offer comfort, and the young wolf's head snaps up. “Don't”, he grits out. “No now, I...just don't, okay?”. The Alpha does stop, as asked, still looking at Derek with a gentleness that makes him feel almost sick.

There is nothing to be gentle or comprehensive about. Christ, he just proved how much of a mess he is under his controlled exterior. After this, who the fuck is he to play conscience or holier-than-you at Peter's ear? He's just as fucked up. Worse, even, because at least Peter owns his killer instincts while Derek hides them away shamefully.

He would gladly go outside if it wasn't for the chance to run into either the Hunters or the Hales; so he just walks to the farther wall from Peter and lets himself fall to a sitting position, knees tugged close to his body, head hitting the rock morosely. Fuck. He always knew he was terribly _focused_ when bringing his enemies down, but it wasn't like that.

It was utter concentration on a single, vital goal: to kill any Hunter before he could reach Peter – and yes, he learned to fall into a cold, ruthless sate of mind to make sure he could do it. Derek is dangerous, there is no doubt about it. But he never thought...Never thought he could just go off like that, killing urge taking over without warning.

If Peter wasn't Alpha and the better fighter...Derek would have killed him too, without hesitation, if given the chance. He hadn't recognized anyone, not even his lover. What kind of psycho is he, to be that far gone, blind to anything except to how better slaughter any man or woman around? He closes his eyes, sagging against the rock.

He gets maybe five minutes of peace and self-berating before the voice at his left makes him jump. “I'm sorry, truly. I didn't mean to... if I had known how dangerous you would prove to be, I would have put a end to the fight immediately. Why didn't you tell me?”. Derek cracks an eye open to glare balefully at Peter. 

He didn't even hear him approach – as always, the elder man is silent as a ghost, and Derek was admittedly lost deep in his thoughts. But still, surprised or no, Derek still want very much to not talk about it, and he throws one last, hard glance at his lover before closing his eyes once more – certainly, the message got through loud and clear.

Or not, apparently. “ May I sit, at least?”. Derek emits a grunt that could in no world pass for a 'yes' in any way, but Peter seems to decide it is one nonetheless and promptly sits down, cross-legged on the hard ground. He has angled himself to keep an eye on Laura, Derek notices before remembering he's firmly not interested in anything the Alpha is doing at the moment.

He stubbornly moves to close his eyes again, determined to ignore his lover in every way and form. He doesn't want to talk about, what's so complicated to get? Christ, _he_ never pushed when the Alpha kept his silence, after all – Peter's nightmare being the perfect example. So why can't he get the same courtesy?

But Peter isn't so easily deterred, even faced with Derek closed-off, somber face. “Look”, he sighs, “I think you do need to talk about it, but if it's really what you want, feel free to tell me to...”.

“Fuck off”, Derek bites out immediately, taking his lover on the not-yet spoken offer. The Alpha takes the vicious words with hardly a blink – in retrospective, Derek should probably have expected it: considering what they throw at each other's faces when they're truly angry, this is barely registering as an unfriendly retort.

But still...“Just leave it”, he hisses through his teeth.

“You saw me more crazy and rogue than you ever could be even if you tried”, Peter finally points out gently after a while. “I was completely out of my mind with rage and grief, and you were right at my side through every hour of it”. Derek's rising irritation at the continual prodding must be visible, because his lover holds up a placating hand. “I'm just saying that it doesn't shake my trust in you in any way, if that's what you're worried about”.

Derek cannot help himself; he looks up inquisitively. The words definitely struck a cord – it's not all of it, of course. His feelings on losing control that way are far too messy to be summed up that easily. But knowing that Peter doesn't hold him to it, even through he'd hardly be in the wrong if he did...it is good to hear, very much so. “It...doesn't?”.

“Not at all”, Peter confirms. His lips tilt in a wry smile. “I'm hardly in position to pass judgment, after all”. Derek can't help his weak huff of laughter, and the Alpha takes it as the fall of tension it is, slipping a hand behind his lover's neck to rub soothing circles into his nape. 

Derek half-growl and twists away with a mocking snarl. “That's not playing fair”, he protests half-heartedly. But it's only for show, and he quickly comes close again to hit Peter's thigh. “You're an asshole. Move over”. The Alpha grins at the order, eyes sparkling, and obligingly scoots on the side until his back is propped against the stone.

“Satisfied?”. Derek doesn't answer, but curls with his head on Peter's shoulder, hand crossing on his lover's stomach and closing around his hip in a rather possessive way. Peter rises an eyebrow. “I'll take that as a yes”, he comments amusedly. “Through I really do have to wonder where this tendency to use me as a mattress comes from”.

Derek mumbles something into his neck that sounds like 'you're good at it', but otherwise doesn't rise to the – admittedly weak – bait, seemingly content to lie in Peter's arms, eyes half-closed like a satisfied cat. The silence is no bother to the Alpha either, and he's disposed to let Derek nap in peace, but the young man finally stirs.

He uncoils slightly, just enough to be able to discern Peter's face. “So. What do we do, now? Any ideas?”. Derek doesn't precise what he means – his jerk of head includes neatly both the visible and unseen: the cave, Laura's unconscious form, and beyond it, the forest and the town, swarming with enemies.

The Hunters. The Hales. Deaton and his collaborator. Even Beacon's Hills PD, although that threat isn't too concerning at the time.

Peter closes his eyes. No so long ago, he'd would have been caught dead before admitting ignorance, especially to Derek of all people. But now he has no claims to admit it. He turns to his lover, pressing his forehead to Derek's temple.

“I don't know, my love. The situation has turned terribly dangerous, I realize that, and we need a plan desperately, but...I don't know”.


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So sorry for the wait, but I'm busy with exams right know - but still, writing makes for a good way to relax, though! Since El equally busy, I'm afraid this chapter isn't betaed.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Derek slips behind the shadow of a big tree, all senses on alert for movement, careful even with the on-so longed for feel of the cool breeze on his skin. Getting out was stupid – or, at the very least unreasonable. He's aware of it. But he needed two minutes of fresh air.

He closes his eyes with a sigh. It's not Laura's disgust and fear that drove him away, no matter what Peter seems to think – he is used to it, to aversion or fright at the sole vision of him. Laura's contempt goes right over his head. The only person whose opinion matters always looks at him with affection and respect. The rest of the world is of no consequence.

It took him time to realize that, to learn that in the end, the insult only hits if you let it. That the hurt can be escaped if you only decide that whoever says the words isn't worth your attention. Omega and Gifted, yes, but those are neutral adjectives – what sense you put behind it, insult or quality, is a simple question of opinion.

Once, it was two words charged with terror and shame. Now, it's only what he is – and he is proud of what he is, in the end. He believes in the choices he made and why he made them, enough that he can bear them with his chin high, and let others' judgment slip over him, unheeded. No, Laura didn't make him feel like he had to leave, not in the slightest.

Peter did. Or, more specifically, their current problem, and Peter's reaction to it, did.

They are in a dangerous, precarious bind; enemies are closing in on all sides, slowly but surely. The Hunters have already largely launched in the dance, as, without a doubt, has Deaton. And as for the Hales...their non-intervention policy is going to shatter, if it's not already the case. Laura has been with them all but a few hours, and her phone rang five times. And counting.

Maybe – probably – the Pack will suspect the Hunters of her disappearance at first, which gives Derek and Peter a bit more time, but it won't last, and once the Hales will be fully back into the game, they will inevitably be drawn on the Omegas' trail. And it'll be a full ringer around them – far too late to escape from.

They cannot afford to wait – they must move now, while they have the effect of surprise and the advantage of time on their side. But, as Peter pointed out as they discussed earlier, to make what kind of move? Two against the Hunters is suicide, and idem if they go for the Hales. As for Deaton...well.

Derek would have gone for it, but Peter had shaken his head, eyes somber – he seems terribly reluctant to cross the Emissary, and even through he's puzzled, Derek trusts him, and he accepted to let it go at that.

So they find themselves in a very risky situation, with no plan for it, except for the fact that they're ready to fight teeth and nail for their survival – they have crawled their way from far too much to die now, hunted down to exhaustion and slaughtered like rabid animals. And Derek agrees with that, he does. He'd fight to the bitter end without hesitation.

He would, but...

 _“I don't know”_. Peter had admitted it earlier, and Derek had echoed the feeling, because it had been true. At this moment, they had been failing – for the fist time, neither of them had been able to think of a way out of this, a way to kill off enough enemies to rebalance the fight without one of them dying in the attempt. 

But there is, in fact, a truly simple solution to their apparently unsolvable problem. A solution so utterly evident that they both passed it by without a blink. Too used to fight to the death for their freedom; kill has become the first answer to everything, no matter how sad that truth is, because it's what assured their ongoing survival that far.

But not here. Not now. Fighting to the death, yes. They both can do it if it's all they have left – die standing rather than cowering. Fall, yes, but make as much as they can fall along with them. Derek is ready for it, if it comes to that. But not yet. Because there is one avenue left to them, one they overlooked for how evident it was.

What do you do when people hunt you from all sides? When facing them head on means certain death? It's easy. Simple. _You run_. You run, fast and far. You admit defeat this time, to hit back later – because better flee alive than fight for a lost cause and die uselessly. 

Or that's how Derek sees it, at least. He's not sure how well Peter is going to take to the proposition, however. And what guesses he can hazard doesn't bode very well – he's almost certain the Alpha is going to flip the fuck out, and probably consider it a betrayal from Derek. One more. 

So, yeah. He needed a few gulps of fresh air before starting what will certainly turn into a major row. Sue him.

He gazes morosely at the sky, a chirping, joyful, endless blue that seems to mock his worries and his somber mood – he huffs with exasperation. You'd think that at mid-fall, it would be all gray and rainy, steadily edging towards the cold of winter. Derek could actually go with a good downpour - wind howling and clouds teared by rain and lighting.

Dangerous. Terrifying and wild, exhilarating and frightening all in one – now that would be a weather fitting his emotions. But no. Birds are singing, the forest rustles cheerily all around...and Derek is going back down into a cave for a screaming match. Fuck his life, frankly.

He still ends up tilting his face in the sun, eyes closed and resentment at the good weather set aside momentarily. He gives himself a few seconds to enjoy the warmth of the rays on his skin, to inhale the clean air and feel the slight chill of the wind – four heartbeats' worth of self-centering, a single moment when Peter doesn't automatically comes first.

And then he opens his eyes again, squares his shoulders and steels his spine, and turns around, back into the shadows of the cavern.

 _Game on_ , he thinks fiercely as he slips into the narrow rock corridor. Running away is the logical, sane choice, and it's his job to remind Peter of the realistic way when he loses himself in vengeance. The elder wolf, for all he is a lot more centered these days, is also always focused beyond reason on his mad quest even when he seems not to be – Derek learned it the hard way.

He may have given Peter a part of his equilibrium back, Derek has no illusions on the Alpha's state of mind. The rage is here. No matter what Peter does, feels or says. It's here, nestled into his being, consuming and immense, more than Derek can handle on his own. He is here because it's his choice, but there's the fact that Peter lets him stay as well, chaining his hatred in as much as he can for Derek's sake.

He has a feeling his proposition is going to be one of the things Peter cannot accept from him. He refused to abandon his vengeance before, no matter what, and fleeing means...well, it's not abandon, not strictly speaking, not if you plan to come back later. It's more along the line of...a strategical retreat. Right. This formulation sure beat a “we should run away” announcement.

Or Derek hopes so. But again, Peter is far more apt at flowery, manipulative speech than his nephew, so it's probably stupid as far as expectations go – his lover will see through any attempt at bullshit, the young man reasons. In the end, maybe he'd better be direct. It's what he does best anyway; always did. He nods determinedly and steps in the open space of the cave.

Peter sends him an instant smile, warm and welcoming – for all his hatred, there is no doubt about how he feels at Derek's presence in particular. Most people get cold, utter indifference. Laura is important enough to be disdainful of, in Peter's mocking, cutting way. And of course, the Hunters...well. Let's just say it gets rather bad. And dangerous to boot.

But Derek? Derek always find himself facing a deep, abiding caring. Even at Peter's worst, he never truly attempted to kill him. Not really. Jen, Derek suspects, was more the result of a fit of fury over being prisoner. Because when all is done, she had no chance to take him on – even human, he had been far more deadly than she could ever prove to be.

There would have been ways – ways to make sure she got to him at the right time, with the right weapon. The axe had been impressive, but hardly the best suited arm choice for a rather frail woman. She had got one hit through, thanks to Derek's dimmed senses and the rain, but it had been it. One shot, and she missed, because no matter what, Derek could have killed her with his hands tied.

It had been the same difference of power that the abyss between him and Logan, and just like then, Jennifer hadn't stood a chance without a plan and good preparation. She could have – Peter could have made her. But he hadn't, and he hadn't been surprised when Derek had come out on top. No matter how betrayed the young wolf had felt, it had been more intimidation than anything else.

Now, if Jen had actually managed to bring him down somehow, Derek doesn't hold any illusions over the fact that Peter would have gotten her to behead him, and cheerfully, too. But it didn't happen, and Derek finally let go of his gnawing resentment – as Peter said, they acted towards each other in such bloodcurdling manner that they're quite even by now.

But in the end, when all is done, Derek severely doubts Peter would have showed such mercy, as little as it was, to anybody else.

And as for now...Derek doesn't believe he'll forget his lover's savage words anytime soon. _“I'll never be this man again. But I love you, as much as I'm able to”_. There had been rage and hurt and resignation in Peter's eyes, like he was already bracing himself for Derek's rejection and departure – they didn't spoke of it afterwards. In fact, they seem to go along perfectly well since their screaming match.

But the day they argued is also the day when Derek realized how much Peter was giving him, trust and love, and acceptance, even through it was making the Alpha's life so much more difficult. He could have cut his losses, left Derek behind. He did it once. But in the end, Peter chose to have him stay, no matter how complicated, rather than let him go.

It's the day when Derek understood that, even if he doesn't say it and probably never will, Peter loves him just as maddeningly as he loves Peter in return. 

So Derek smiles back, helplessly and just as warmly as he slides close. Peter's hand brushes his arm in welcome and warning all the same, and Derek hums noncommittally in acknowledgment. Laura's eyes have latched on him the second he got in the cave, and she yet has to look away. He tilts his head interrogatively towards the Alpha.

“Laura and I were having a little chat”, is the calm answer, and Derek's eyebrows rise in earnest. Considering Laura's general disgust with Peter, and his lover's disdainful reaction to the Hales, he didn't believe the two were truly able to discuss without insulting each other at every turn.

“Chat as in “insult contest”, I take it?”, he remarks dryly, and he definitely sees Peter's mouth quirk up. His lover throws him an amused glance, but shakes his head all the same.

“No, wonder of wonder, we were actually speaking like civilized people – well, more to the point, Laura here tried to convince me to...let you go. What was the actual formulation already? Ah, yes. “Get my filthy hands off you””. Derek stares at him, torn between anger that his sister would think him so weak and a wave of amusement at how wrong her assessment of their dynamic is. 

Peter shrugs, looking more than halfway to laughter himself. “So here you have it. Back where we started – I'm a manipulative monster, and you the poor, defenseless prey I set my eyes on”. He turns to give Derek a lengthy, overtly appreciative glance. “A what a prey, indeed”. The urge to flirt back is here, but Derek stomps on it – this was a dig for Laura, not much more.

And besides, he'd rather keep their true relationship a secret at the moment – they don't need Laura to go into an apoplectic fit over the realization that they are, in fact, lovers. It means opening the door to all kinds of nasty, and the situation is delicate enough as it is. It's not like Laura isn't already terribly wary of them. No need to give her further reason to try and bolt. 

And bolt she doesn't. However, she grits her teeth when she belatedly realizes how much Peter is mocking her, now and probably all along their precedent conversation. But she doesn't go off on the Alpha, rather choosing to turn to Derek instead, eyes hard. “What about you?”, she hisses, patience visibly dwindling very fast. “Do you still have some sense left?”.

Derek's amusement vanishes at the condescending words, and his lips thin into a flat, hard line, eyes narrowing to a somber, dangerous glint. Facing anybody else, he may have shown understanding – being restrained somewhere against your will by two men you consider highly dangerous killers without much morals isn't exactly favourable to cool-headedness.

But coming from a Hale, it's just the pot having the god-damned gall to call the kettle black, and certainly not in an amusing way. _Self-conceited bitch_ , Derek thinks savagely, and if it hadn't been for the calming press of Peter's hand at the small of his back, he would have spat it with all his hatred and contempt – and probably provoked another fight.

As it is, he exhales, forcing his surge of rage down, and retorts simply, coldly, “Considering I haven't turned into a self-absorbed, cowardly asshole yet, I'd say I'm rather satisfied with my current situation, thanks”. He turns away, not waiting for an answer, to address Peter without bothering to lower his voice. “I need to talk to you, if possible without outsiders' ears all around”.

Peter arches an interested, inquisitive eyebrow at him, but nods agreeably enough and steps calmly towards Laura. “I'd rather make this as non-violent as possible”, he remarks idly, although he doesn't seem overly bothered by the possibility of a fight. Not that he has any reason to be, since the young girl has no chance of holding her own for long.

Derek knows her enough that he's certain she's going to try it nonetheless; the Hales are nothing if not hard-headed in every possible sense of the term – and for once, Derek includes Peter and himself in the description. But it doesn't matter. Try as she may, she will be beaten. In a way, it's sad they've arrived to the point they have to knock people out just to have a talk.

But hey. You play with the cards you've been dealt, and the ones you manage to gather. It's not like you have many others options – except cheating and quitting the game. Derek's musings bring him right back to the situation at hand, and he bites his tongue, unhappy with himself. Metaphors asides, this is far from a game. He has to convince Peter.

The consequences if he doesn't will be very, very unfortunate. He spies the Alpha as he calmly walks back to him – as the young wolf expected, taking Laura out took him less than two minutes. A good shot across the bows with the dangerous mix of his Gift and Alpha power was enough to put his sister seriously off-balance, not that Derek blame her for it.

It's hard enough to escape the terrible pressure of the mental invasion when you're warned, as he was, so when you're not expecting anything of the sort...Yeah. Laura reeled harshly from the blow, and it was all it took for Peter to get into her guard as she was stumbling and send her right into unconsciousness with a well placed strike on the back of her neck.

And now, the Alpha is strolling back to Derek almost lazily – after showing Laura the minute courtesy of catching her as she fell and lying her down gently on the ground. And that's when tension and anxiety start to claw at Derek's chest, because, no matter how justified he is in his proposition, he loathes the idea of a fight.

Not after they both went so far in learning to tolerate each other again.

He grits his teeth and ruthlessly tells himself to calm the fuck down – Peter is mostly sensible these days, after all. He just needs to expose his points logically enough for it to make real sense. Come on, he faced Peter when he was off his fucking head, surely arguing now isn't that bad. If arguing happens, Derek nuances. Because maybe Peter will see reason?

He clings to that idea to swallow his nerves, but for all his goodwill, he cannot help the way he plants his feet and rises his chin, shoulders squared back, as his lover steps close: braced for confrontation, his stress made evident by every rigid line of his body. 

And of course, the possibility of Peter overlooking his riled up state would be a fucking miracle, cue the Alpha's eyes narrowing, back straightening in answer to Derek's own tension. “Something out here?”. There's a dangerous note in his voice, eyes veering back to a red-ish hue as he imperceptibly tilts his head, senses no doubt surveying the surroundings.

Derek winces at the display of sudden attentiveness. The glint in Peter's eyes has turned feral, wolf roused by the idea of a prey close by. And here he wanted to approach the subject smoothly. _Well done, Derek. So very subtle. You should get a medal_. He mentally slaps himself. Christ, how can you suck that much at being steady and calm? “It's not that”, he explains swiftly.”Nothing's moving around”.

Derek suddenly decides to bite the figurative bullet. Delaying visibly will gain him no favors. “Look”, he begins, and he sighs at how cliché it sounds, but it's not like he has much ideas in terms of starting points. “I was thinking. About our...problem. Problems. Whatever”. He clenches his teeth to stop the nervous babble cloaking up his throat, and ends, “I think I've got an idea”.

The way Peter's attention falls on him with laser-focus does nothing to help his frayed nerves, but now that he got going, it's easier to keep talking – if you jump off, then at least choose the biggest cliff you can find. Or something along these lines. And besides, what kind of equality there is between them if Derek has to feel afraid each time he wants to disagree?

 _Fuck this_ , he decides. He didn't step out and away from the Hales' authority to keep flinching in front of his own lover. “You're not going to like it”, Derek warns. He's satisfied to hear his voice carrying the words clearly and firmly, anxiety receding. “But I need you to hear me out to the end, okay? You can blow a fuse when I'm finished, but...just listen first”.

Peter clicks his tongue at him, a unhappy sound echoed by his heavy frown and flaring red eyes. “The last time you told me something similar, I ended up caged for weeks”, he points out slowly. His expression has turned closed-off and wary, and Derek grimaces. Right. He cannot exactly begrudge the Alpha his mistrust, can he?

“It's nothing like that. I promise it's not”, he hastens to precise. “It's about strategy. As I say, I got an idea for...”. Derek trails off with a thoughtful expression. Starting his argument by exposing his solution of running away isn't a good idea, not if Peter is going to react as badly as he fears he will. Better explain his reasoning first.

He quickly switches gears – the goal is to show this is an idea based on solid logic and arguments. “Okay”, he tries again. “Okay. Look, here's the deal: in a nutshell, we're fucked. The situation is already bad, and it will turn terrible the second the Hales will jump in – if it's not already done. The longer we wait hidden here, the tighter the net will become. You know that”.

Peter is watching him, arms crossed, face expressionless, and he doesn't answer – which is as well since Derek intended his last sentence as nothing but a rhetoric point. And he doesn't exactly hope for the Alpha's cutting brand of sarcasm at the moment – Peter silent means a Peter who's listening, and that's what he asked for.

“So we can't stay here, and we can't fight. But do nothing is the worse choice of all – it'll only end up with us caught like rabbits in their hole, and fuck that. I'm not going down like an helpless rodent, and I won't die for nothing either”. He rises his eyes to Peter's, and even through there's suspicious expectancy in them still, he can also see fierce agreement.

And that gives Derek enough courage that any trace of doubt has vanished from his voice as he continues, “But there's one thing we can do; something they'll never expect from us”. He steps forwards, holding the Alpha's bloody irises and gaze without backing down. “We can go”, he ends simply but clearly.

There is long, long silence after his last words ring out. And then...“ _What_ did you just say?”. The icy, savage snarl could make a blizzard pass off as a summer wind, but Derek holds his ground all the same, refusing to avert his eyes.

“I said”, he repeats with an utter, indestructible calm he would have never believed he'd be capable of, “that we can, that we should, go”. This has become strangely familiar in a way; him bargaining and arguing with Peter, dancing around the Alpha unbalanced temper and forcing his arguments through his lover's helpless, mad rage. He can handle this, Derek realizes. So much better than he thought.

Peter stares down at him, eyes like fire and teeth too long to be strictly human anymore. It's the most furious Derek has seen him since the ash circle days, and he silently braces himself, but doesn't give way even an inch when the Alpha steps up to him, looking like he's barely restraining himself from hitting him. “Let me make sure I understood this completely”, Peter finally hisses after a long minute of glaring at him wildly. “You want us to _run away_?”. 

He spits the last words like venom, but Derek forces himself to not respond in kind – letting Peter goad him into anger will only allow to older man to get the upper hand. He has logic on his side. He's right. He has no need to get angry. “Yes”, the young wolf says in an equal tone, “It's what I said. Retreat, run away, flee...call it what you will. I still believe it's our only viable option”.

“How _dare_ you?”. Peter is almost shaking, incredulity and betrayal twisting on his scarred face. “You of all people...how can you ask this? How can you even say it? You...I thought you had finally understood!”. Derek closes his eyes and swallows raggedly. Peter's rage and madness, he can take on any day, but this? His lover's shocked, pained incomprehension sears right thought him.

He opens his eyes again and reaches out cautiously until he can put a hand on Peter's forearm, trying to convey both how sorry he is and how vital it is that his lover tries where he's coming from. The gesture is received with a cracked growl, and jerk, but Derek tightens his fingers, determined to make Peter hear him out. 

“Please”, he murmurs. He knows the Alpha can twist away at any second without an effort; knows that the second Peter tunes him out is the moment he loses everything – his lover's trust, respect and his affection. Again. And this time, he's not sure they'll manage to get back up from it. Derek grits his teeth. “Please. I love you”.

Peter momentarily freezes, and Derek pushes his advantage desperately. “I love you”, he repeats fiercely. “Christ, I would kill for you. I _have_ killed, and bleed, and lied for you. I love you like crazy, damn you!”. He gives Peter's arm a rough, brutal shake. “Do you think I would do this to you if I didn't believe we don't have a choice?”.

For a second, Derek thinks Peter is going to push him away and leave, for his lover doesn't seem to even react to the words, eyes hard as flint and muscles bunched like steel under the young wolf's palm. But slowly, his harsh breathing slows down, and the terrible glow of betrayal recedes from his eyes. 

He turns to Derek carefully, like he fears the move will shatter him. “If I abandon this”, he says hollowly, “I lose my peace of mind forever. I will go _mad_ , Derek, mad beyond any help. I need it, need to see them all dead. I don't think you understand – it's not a question of getting justice, or even revenge. It's...exorcising this part of me that is being slowly eaten away by hatred”.

He grabs Derek close, fingers digging forcefully into his lover's shoulders. The ruby glint of his eyes is as somber and as desperate looking as his words. “I _need this_ ”. Derek looks up, into Peter's tortured eyes, a howling storm of despair and grief. He had never realized how much pain and terror Peter was hiding. Never knew how hard it must have been to grin carelessly at Derek.

He thought he knew what he was asking of Peter when he decided that fleeing was the solution. He didn't. God, he didn't have a fucking clue. “We...we wouldn't go forever”, he protests, but the conviction behind it has turned into dust, and his words rang empty. “We just could...wait until things have smoothed over, and then come back to strike... It's not...”.

Peter's lips on his, rough and demanding, make him swallow his words as a wet, hot tongue delves into his mouth, tasting and taking and biting at his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Derek rears back with a hiss of surprise, flushed, breathing turned ragged from the lack of oxygen. “What...?” he starts, but Peter kisses him again, until he has forgotten whatever it was he wanted to say.

When the Alpha releases him once more, he's dizzy from the kiss and alive with heat, thoughts jumbled and broken in tiny, inconsequential pieces. He couldn't form half a coherent idea even if he tried, and he doesn't even wonder why Peter would want to make out now of all times. He doesn't see it coming, not even a bit.

His instinct and rational thinking are equally unable to be on alert, all defenses brought down by lust and desire and utter, absolute trust. He doesn't see the way Peter's eyes flash red, doesn't have any chance to react when the pressure suddenly builds in his head, like a knife-stab that makes stars explode behind his eyelids.

“I'm sorry”, he hears from afar as the hard ground rushes towards him at alarming speed. He doesn't crashes down, however, because his fall stops and he's gently laid on his back instead. “I'm sorry”, repeats the man's voice. There's a gentle caress along his forehead, tenderly brushing his hair away.“I don't expect you to forgive me”.

It's the last thing Derek hears before the darkness and the silence claim him, dragging him mercilessly under.


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! And Happy New Year to you all!  
> So, I finally managed to end this chapter, which turned out to be...difficult. Especially to conclude. But, anyway, here it is!
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy!

Derek knows there is something very wrong the second he wakes. Admittedly, he's rather fuzzy about how he got here, but he's pretty sure _here_ should absolutely _not_ include the mattress he's lying on. Caves deep in the wood are more prone to rocky, hard grounds.

He's not in the cavern anymore, and his head is throbbing painfully, lancing at every beat of his heart. He feels panic creeping in. Where the hell is he, and how did he get here? He cannot smell or hear anybody, and most of all, he cannot track Peter's scent anywhere close by. He closes his eyes, trying keep his mounting fear in check.

 _Calm_ , his rational side snaps. _Panic will not help you, and it will tell your captors that you're awake_. Right. He needs to keep a cool head. Derek swallows and forces himself to go back to breathing evenly and regularly, until he's faking sleep in the most convincing way possible. He stays that way for long minutes, wary of anyone having noticed his earlier freak out.

But nothing is moving, and the silence remains undisturbed; it's enough for Derek to relax minutely, and he starts to take his surroundings in, careful of heart-rate and movements. If his awakening hasn't been perceived, then he'd like for it to stay that way – it gives him more time to try and determine where is he and how to flee.

And then he blinks, because his first reflex should have been to teleport away – when he feels fear or panic, his Gift automatically rouses the same way his wolf flares at any threat. So why...? With a sense of dread, he closes his eyes, reaching out deep into his chest, and finds...nothing. There's a gaping hole where the center of his power should be.

That rattles him more than anything else, and he knows with perfect certainty that his presence here is not Peter's doing; his lover would never, ever have cut him from his Gift, no matter what. Of that he is utterly sure.

...Or is he? Derek closes his eyes, rubbing his temples – his last memories before blacking out are terribly hazy, and that combined to his pain-filled skull is making him consider a very unpleasant possibility. Knocking him out alone would have not provoked this blur in his recollection of events. Not with his healing at work. And Laura was unconscious, it cannot have been her.

Derek takes a deep, shuddering breath. They were arguing, he can remember that much, about fleeing or not, and Peter was incensed. But still...would he have done it? Broken Derek's will under his own and left him to be caught by the first guy passing through, Hunter or wolf alike? A shiver rakes along Derek's spine and his lips twist in a sneer.

It's not like it would be the first time that Peter toss him aside to have his way, after all. He lets his head fall down on his pillow, torn between a brief flare of rage and a feeling of emptiness. Not even hurt, or betrayal...just a numb, cold void. Why get angry and start ranting? It's just like each time before this one, isn't it? You hit and the beaten dog keeps licking your hand.

Derek's teeth clench so hard he can hear them grinding together. Son of a frigid, motherfucking bitch. He has ripped his way through his family, the Hunters and his lover's madness for this? After all he has done, all he went through, that's what he gets? A final stab in the back because he became to bothersome? 

He feels something hot roll down his face as he starts to shake almost convulsively. _Fuck you, you bastard. Fuck you, fuck you...I should have let you burn, should have let the Hunters kill you, end you like the rabid, ungrateful, disgusting mongrel that you are_. Derek takes a ragged breath, unable to stifle the sob, almost sounding like a choked-off howl, the pitiful squeak of a wounded animal, as he keeps vomiting his hatred and broken heart in insults and tears.

He doesn't know how long he stays like this, trembling like a leaf, low noises ripped from his throat along with his hiccuping breaths, a low string of brief whines mingled with the sporadic vindictive tone, when the end of an insult echoes off the walls. All he knows is that he finally runs out of slurs, and his sobs seem to stop along the same time.

He doesn't care where he is, doesn't care Hunters have probably heard him cry for hours, doesn't care they'll certainly come to torture him soon. He just wants to forget his heartache for a time, close his eyes and not be aware anymore. Unconsciousness. Dark, calm and silence, his terrible sorrow lifting for a few hours.

Sleep.

***

The second time Derek blinks awake, he immediately recognizes the other heartbeat in the room, and he's so shocked he forgets to feign sleep. He rears up on an elbow instead, eyes wide and fixated on the fourteen year-old boy frozen in the corner. _“Ethan?”_.

Derek's voice, high from sheer incredulity, seems to get his younger brother out of his deer-like immobility, and before Derek can move past his disbelief and formulate any kind of sentence, he lets the plate his was carrying fall on the floor with a loud clang and bolts to the door at full werewolf speed.

The young wolf stares at the steel panel for a long second after Ethan's brutal departure, the slam of the metal echoing in his ears. What the everliving fuck...? How...? And then it clicks, and he can't believe he didn't recognized the place earlier. He's in the fucking _basement_. In the _Hales' house_. Derek closes his eyes. Great, just...great.

Okay – okay, adapting. Better the hales than the Hunters, at least. Well. He remembers Laura's wild eyes and Ethan's terror less than two minutes ago, and revises his judgment. The last time he had been something close to a prisoner had been et the trial, but then he had still been considered as a Pack member. He doubts it's still the case.

Derek racks a hand through his hair. So he's...what? A war prisoner? An Omega, at the very least, and a Gifted one, to boot. A murderer, certainly, and a traitor – facts that every Hale must know, if Ethan's reaction is anything to go by. He sighs. Well. Positive side: they don't know about Logan. Hopefully.

He shakes his head. No use torturing himself with hypothesis at the moment. They'll come with questions and demands soon enough, after all. Derek throws a cool glance around, out of habit, even through he know that the basement's cell are made so no-one can get out. His eyes fall on the plate Ethan brought, and he gives a mental shrug. Starving himself won't help his case.

Just like Peter when...He instantly bites his cheek, hard. This train of thought is irrelevant, and stupid, and not his _god-damned problem_. Derek is done running behind a man who treats him like he's disposable – he may not be perfect, but he sure s hell deserves better than that. The Alpha wants to go on a suicide assault? Let him.

Derek has more than enough problems at the moment, namely how to get out of here. He's on his own, now, and he lost enough time and energy standing by Peter in the past; time to think and to fight for himself. 

Derek takes a deep breath, garbs the bread and goes back to sit on the bed. He can be patient and bide his time – if anything, it's one thing the last years have taught him. He can withstand questioning, can endure as long as he'll need to – until he finally learn how they keep his Gift dead. And then...

He takes a bites of the bread, and settles to waits for the first round.

***

The sound of heartbeats rouses Derek from his light doze far before the footsteps start echoing in the corridor. He wasn't lying when he told Peter he had become a very light sleeper – maybe, probably, even, another wolf wouldn't have heard the faint sound of pulses through the metal door. But Derek snaps awake the second the hears the first beat. 

He cannot tell for sure who it is, through. Not at this distance. The steady drums of the hearts fall into each other, making them indiscernible – and his sense of smell isn't able to go past the tangle of scents from the previous occupants of his cell. Too many have been here, full moon after full moon.

Still, he is alert and ready when the key slips in the locks, and he dares to think it's more of an advantage than many prisoners got, in the end – being jerked awake by your captor's presence just beyond the door is...rather frightening as far as prospects go. Or at last, it's one of the the best ways to leave you terribly rattled, and prone to mistakes.

Well. Derek rises in a sitting, cross-legged position, attentive and slightly tense but calm, and watches as the door slides open without a sound. His face stays perfectly blank as he takes in the leading party and, farther out, the three others members of this little get-together. It's is nothing more than who he expected, and he rises his chin in cold defiance.

If James, Thalia, Laura or even Ethan, of all people, believe they can make him falter with this kind of party tricks...Derek's eyes narrow, and the hint of a disdainful smile comes to float on his lips. Intimidation, use of the effect of surprise, force of number, Alpha power... Nothing he hasn't worked his way through ten times over in the last years.

Time to show them what kind of steel he has in him, tempered by what he lived through and what choices he made. He is not afraid, not of them.

Not anymore.

He tilts his head, chin dipping in a barely-there salute, without ever lowering his eyes, but he doesn't break the silence. Let them show their hand first – Derek has no problem waiting them out, no urge to fill the silence. He simply settles more comfortably and takes his chance at observing them, since they are stupid enough to let him.

So he assesses them, as best as he can – he is not the best at this kind of mind games, he admits it readily, and reading people isn't his strong suit either. But still. Sometimes it just takes a bit of attention to start noticing little things. Like, for example, that it's James who opened the door, and slipped the key in the front pocket of his jeans.

Or how the Alpha is glaring at him savagely, or the way Laura's death stare would make a lesser man – wolf – cower in fear. Hum...She is furious, yes, and he can understand, seeing how she was restrained. Laura never took well to humiliation, and being beaten by her supposedly weaker brother would register as one.

And yet...he searches her face, her stance, and, without surprise, he finds it: there is fear lurking in his eyes, and wariness in the way she is standing to the side, ready to dodge. Derek's sudden explosion of violence and killing intent at the cave left her uneasy. Good to know, Derek muses, as is the fact that he can, in fact, take her out if need must.

But things aren't that bad, not yet. Letting go that way would be counter-productive right now, and besides...well. Let's put the killing in last resort rather than in first. The Hales aren't Hunters, and the stakes aren't that high. Yet. If they attempt to take his life, or even to force information out of him...then all bets will be off, no questions asked. But until then...calm and restrain.

Derek leaves here that train of through to continue his observation. He lets his eyes drift to Ethan next, and he is, for once, truly startled by the level of rage in the boy's expression as he meets Derek's eyes wildly, flickers of yellow dancing in his irises – a true sign of hatred or maybe of fear. Probably, the young wolf muses as he considers the bared, elongated fangs, both.

But why? James and Laura, he understands – it's exactly what he expected of them. As for his mother...one glance tells him what he already knew. She's utterly undecipherable, face like craved marble, expression frozen in cold expectation – she always was the ice to James' fire, more look alike Peter than his own brother.

But in the end, it is, too, what he was waiting for, even if it makes of Talia a wilder, more dangerous card than he'd like. Derek may have picked up a few skills of observation over the years, especially handy with the 'hearts-on-their-sleeves' kind of people such as James or Laura, he knows he doesn't have the level to go on par with masters like Talia...or Peter.

He immediately shies from the thought and forcibly refocuses himself on the situation at hand. So, he cannot get any read on what may be going on in Talia's head. Very well. He'll deal with it when, if, it comes to that; it's not like he can do anything about it, after all.

But Ethan's sudden hatred or terror of him? That's a mystery he can solve. Certainly they grew distant over the last three years, since Derek was far too busy with his plan to heal Peter, and then with Peter himself. Their contacts dwindled to a few phones call – maybe once a month, or close. So. Granted, he may have abandoned the kid a little.

Still, it is truly a reason for the young man's behavior? He had seemed friendly enough on the phone. Now, of course there is also the matter of what the Hales filled his head with. Nothing to flattering for Derek, surely. But still. As far as the Pack knows, he killed several Hunters. Now, considering the fire, he doesn't believe it's that objectionable, frankly.

And the butchering kind of kills were Peter's, not his, and it was his lover's scent on them – there is no reason in Derek's eyes that can explain such powerful, barely restrained rage in Ethan. Gods, the boy looks like he wants to jump on him and rip his fucking throat off! He frowns at the young, conveying his incomprehension, but if anything, Ethan only seems further incensed.

Not that Derek can think on it any longer, since James apparently decides he has waited in silence long enough. The Alpha steps forwards, towering over his son's sitting form, and if he was a few years younger Derek maybe would have flinched. But he is not this boy anymore, and he meets his father's eyes evenly.

The evident disrespect to James' Alpha's status certainly doesn't please him overmuch, but for all his hotheadedness, he has been playing political Pack games for too long to lose composure that easily – if Derek didn't know him so well, the flash of irritation on his face would have gone unnoticed. Still, James Hale's always been, to his core, a blunt man, if not impatient.

The question, when it comes, is delivered in a harsh tone, but simple and to the point. “Where is he?”. No need to ask who 'he' is, and Derek decides to not play games of false innocence – on this point, just like on a few others, he does resemble his Father. 

He briefly wonders if he should feel insulted that Peter seems to be their first concern when he's the one sure murderer in the cell with them, but in the end, he gives a mental shrug. Let them ask – it's not like he can answer anyway. “I don't have the slightest idea, and frankly, I don't care”. He lifts a cool, insolent eyebrow. “In case Laura didn't tell, he did knock me out before leaving”.

The aforementioned family member scoffs, expression clearly disbelieving, tapping her foot impatiently. Ah, family traits. “And of course, you cannot hazard a guess?”. The irony, heavy and full of unveiled contempt, drips from every word. Derek shrugs, for real this time, without masking his own disdain.

“Again I repeat, he left while I was unconscious – if he had wanted me to know where he was going next, somehow I don't think I would have ended up here, in a cell with you”. Derek looks at her steadily, and watching her avoid his eyes after a few seconds is supremely satisfying. “I told you”, he concludes. “I don't know where he is”.

“But you know what he wants, and what he's doing”. This time, it's no question, and Derek's lips twist in a rueful little smile as he looks at Talia, meeting her coldness with his own ironic, half-mocking grin.

“I do, yes”. He admits it steadily, awake that denial is useless. “Mostly. Let's say I can”, he throws a cool, pointed glance at Laura, “guess well enough”. He tilts his head, studying her face carefully, before letting his narrowed eyes wander on all the presents, keen and knowing. “But so have you, all of you. You know what he's doing, and you know why”.

“Yes, because he's off his fucking plate”, Laura bites out disgustingly, and Derek clenches his jaw, feeling anger start to boil in his chest at the careless, callous words.

He decides they have played enough as it is, and lets his tone grow hard and serious as he continues. “You stand here and you judge him, but you are the ones who left him alone and in agony”. He throws a savage glance at the Hale patriarch. “I'm sure an Alpha of your great standing knows how a wolf live coma. What did you expect, James? Perfect sanity? He was burned alive”.

James' lips thin to a white line, and Derek's satisfaction takes on a vicious edge – what do they know, bunch of cowards that they are? The only one who can spit that Peter is a rabid, crazed, ungrateful son of a bitch is Derek himself, because he actually was besides the man at his worst. But them? They have no fucking right.

“Sanity or not, I can only observe how well he turned your head”. Talia's voice rises unbidden, quiet but perfectly audible, cutting through the tension like a knife.“He is taking advantage of you, don't you see?”.

“Taking advantage of me”, Derek repeats flatly.

“He is dangerous, Derek. You saw the way he kills. In fact I believe you saw it from very close range, didn't you?”. No answer, and Talia sighs but continues. “And yet, even faced with the slaughter and the way he has treated you, leaving you to be brought in a cell, you still stand here and defend him. Even as you readily admit how unbalanced he is. It is a very...surprising contradiction, as I'm sure you understand?”.

Derek snorts. “So is your sudden concern towards me”, he drawls, mocking tone betrayed by his icy eyes. “Three years ago I was a monster, a disgusting Gifted, unfit for the greatness of the Hale Pack. Today I am a poor victim, manipulated into unspeakable deeds by Peter's mind games. If you must accuse me, at the very least try to show some kind of consistency”.

Thalia's face closes-off and she turns slightly towards James, visibly ready to give him back the control of the interrogation, but Derek's not done, not by far. Not when he finally has a chance to spit everything out. “You know _nothing_ ”, he says, venom lacing his words, poisonous tone fit to melt walls. “No matter how off-balance he may be, Peter still manages to have more brains, honor and understanding in his little finger than all of you thrown together”. 

Laura snarls, eyes flashing red, and Derek sends a defiant sneer her way. “What's wrong, Sis? Can't take a bit of truth? But again, it must be weird, somebody not worshiping the very ground you walk on. Future head of the powerful, respectable Hale Pack, huh?”. Derek laughs, icy and unpleasant, baring his teeth. “Please. This clan is nothing a bunch of pathetic, cowardly, judgmental fools. I only regret not seeing it sooner”.

Laura bristles, and she's about to try and attack him, or close enough, when another voice cuts through, high and clear and furious. “You're the coward. A liar, and a murderer!”.

Derek slowly turns his head, and Ethan doesn't back down, yellow eyes blazing on his pale, bloodless face, livid with anger. His hands balled into fists, and his thin figure shaking with the force of his rage. Derek feels his own fury suddenly falter, caught in full stop by shock. _What can I have done, that you hate me so much?_

“Ethan”, he starts, slowly, but the question never leaves his lips.

Swift as a viper, Ethan darts forward and spats in his face, retreating before Derek can even think of a reaction. “ _Liar!_ ”. The accusation echoes one last time on the walls, and then Ethan is gone, dodging around the corner, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

“Well”, James finally says. “Perhaps your brother's words will help you see reason where ours failed. We'll leave you to think on it, shall we?”.

***

Derek sighs, rising to a sitting position with a disgusted grimace. No matter what position he takes, or how much he tries to empty his head, he cannot sleep.

Ethan's words and hatred circle in his thoughts, as shocking as they are incomprehensible. Derek cannot find a single good reason for his younger brother's behavior. Simple, clean disgust at his status or for the blood on his hands, he would have accepted. That, at least, would have made sense.

But Ethan acts like his deep contempt steams from betrayal, like Derek has somehow broken a promise or an oath he's not awake of having taken. And that is just...impossible to figure out, because Derek never makes promises.

Or, more accurately, his only promise at the time kept him from making any others – Peter had been the center his life revolved around at the time, so he cannot have said anything binding to Ethan. He was very careful of that. Friends, yes, but nothing too close, for he hadn't wanted his brother soiled by his lies and dark, bloody dealings.

So why?

He sighs once more. He's half-temped to let the matter go, seeing how bleak the situation is – surely he'd be better off concentrating on how to escape. And yet...Ethan had stood by him, this terrible night, at the hospital, when Derek hadn't known if Peter was going to pull through. No matter the Pack's disapproval, his brother had stayed.

Ethan had been his only friend then, and maybe, if Derek find out what's so wrong, he can gather the boy as an ally once more. Managing to get out by himself will prove to be near impossible, he fears, and his brother is the only member of the Hale Pack he can hope to bring on his side. Having eyes on ears outside the cell would help tremendously. 

So, in order of priority: get the fuck out at the first occasion, learn what's wrong with his Gift, keep his ears open and his mind in the game, and find out why the fuck Ethan freaked out. Well. Piece of cake, considering that no one's trying to murder him. Yet.

Still, the main problem will be to actually manage to speak to the kid – and with the way he fled, Derek doubts Ethan intends to come at any other interrogation sessions. He swears between his teeth. That's sure going to be a problem – he can hardly hazard a guess if he cannot even see the boy, after all. But how could Derek get him to the cell? It's...

He suddenly rises his head, disbelieving. 

He frowns, concentrates to hear better, certain his line of thought has him mistaken. But no. The heartbeat along the corridor is Ethan's, for sure. And the second...Derek's eyes narrow. He knows the second as well, if not as closely. But he heard it already, somewhere. Not familiar, not by any means, but enough for an inexplicable feeling of dread to start mounting in the pit of his stomach. What the hell?

He hears the key in the lock and clenches his teeth, muscles locking and instinct impossibly wary, every hair on his body standing on end. He swallows, unable to understand his reaction and yet far too used to trust his senses to push it aside – wolf he may be, his brain is human. His senses sometimes pick up on something wrong faster that he can process.

The door opens, and with it the scent of whoever is standing in the corridor, and Derek recognizes it immediately, and closes his eyes, suddenly understanding in what murky, terribly dangerous waters he's treading. Understanding at the same second the reason for the block on his Gift. _Fuck, no_.

On the threshold, Alexander grins at him, savage like a wound, madness and satisfaction glinting in his dark eyes. “Hello, Derek. I've been looking for you”.


	21. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm prolific these days - or more acurately, I'm writing this when I should be writing my report for university, but whatever. TSWE somehow comes easier to my mind.  
> So, fair warning folks, this gets rather violent later on; not outright torture, but still nothing pleasant. But again with Alexander in the picture it was kind of a given.
> 
> Enjoy, and tall me what you think!

Derek forces himself to stay outwardly calm while he mentally spits the foulest, most extensive string of curses he knows.

What the fuck is this psycho of a son of a bitch doing here? Not here in the cell, that's not so complicated to get, but how in hell, and when, did Alexander get close enough to the Hales to have access to the fucking _house_ ? And led by Ethan, to boot – the youngest of them, and yet no one is hovering to make sure the Gifted isn't doing something amiss.

Again, what the freaking _fuck_ ?

Derek's mind seems struck on a steady, repetitive loop of insults and curses – he actually didn't realize he knew some of the ones popping out in his head. But he believes he's entitled. Shit, of all the people, Alexander, really? Some of his shock and dread must be showing through, because the other wolf's smile grows to the point its baring every teeth up to the molars.

“Thank you, Ethan. May I have a moment alone with him?”. Alexander's hand fall causally on the young's shoulder as he speaks, movement easily and light – it's an usual enough kind of touch amidst Pack, unthinking and natural. But from a fucking stranger? An outsider? Even if there is some kind of...treaty, or close...

This level of trust is staggering. From the Hales, who let Alexander move around unsupervised. From Ethan, who lets the other touch him like it's normal. But most of all, from the Gifted himself, for waltzing in and about like he owns the god-damned place. Like he has the right. The Hale house doesn't mean anything for Derek, not anymore, but he still feels every hackle rise.

In the stretched-out second that follows the Gifted's words, Derek very explicitly thinks about killing him, a great deal bloodier and messier than any fantasies of ripping Kate's head-off, which is saying quite something.

But reality comes crashing back in; Derek has become too analytic in his way of thinking to let fury or stupor overwhelm him too long. Keep his wits about himself, always, no matter the situation, no matter what's at stake. It's the only thing that has allowed him to out-think and win against opponents who should have rightfully crushed him.

Focus, Derek, he orders himself. He swallows the rage and the sense of offense, as bitter as they may feel in his throat – because once more, he sees another Gifted being accepted in the clan he was thrown out from, and he cannot help but wonder what makes someone like Alexander more worthy of trust or acceptance than him.

But it's not the point. Not now. Not when Ethan nods, only a bit hesitant, his eyes staying briefly over Derek, before he turns on his heels and closes the door behind him, leaving him alone with Alexander. No. That's not exact: he's not with the man. _With_ implies some kind of equal standing. There's nothing of that sort here: he's at Alexander's mercy, pure and simple.

Derek clenches his teeth and straightens his back, feeling adrenalin rushing in answer to his tension, wolf awake at the back of his mind, like a growling, warning presence ready to jump at the other to tear and defend its life to the bitter end. _Easy_ , he thinks, breathes deep and calm to keep control. _Not yet, not like this – it would be showing fear. Weakness_ .

Not that he has any illusion about the fact that he must reek of tension and stress, but at the very least he can show restrain and strength alongside it. Besides, he reasons carefully, the Hales have enough honor that they wouldn't let Alexander torture him under their roof – in that he can believe. You can always believe in the twisted, clear-cut black and with vision of a Hale.

Torture is bad, while throwing out your own son out for the purity of the Pack is good. Go figure.

Still. It means Alexander cannot...well. Let's say he cannot kill him or truly torture him. But beating him black and blue? That's a very realistic possibility, and he's not going to kid himself in believing the Hales'll come for him for anything short of life-threatening wounds. Maybe he won't die here, but he knows that it doesn't mean he won't suffer.

He closes his eyes, just a second. In a sense, considering how much enemies he has, it's only surprising it didn't happen sooner – he managed to escape that far, but his run stops here; and when you know who put him in this position in the first place, it's clear he has nothing to hope for in terms of external help.

He can only do one thing; one thing he's so terribly good at: roll with the punches, all of them. Endure, over and over, and wait until he has his chance. If it comes. The thought slips in his head like insidious smoke, and Derek savagely bats it aside. None of that. He'll find a way to get himself out. He just has to wait. 

Bear everything thrown his way, and wait.

He opens his eyes again, and finds himself faced with Alexander, standing tall in the middle of the cell, observing him carefully, a long, meticulous once-over, like he can somehow read Derek's history through his stance alone. The young wolf sits still, refusing to lower his eyes when the Gifted's glowing irises met his.

And speaking of irises...Alexander's pupils are yellow, just as they were the last time they met, and Derek cannot help his slight frown. He'd have expected the older man to have become the new Alpha of the Callen Pack – he was Second, the spot should have become his by right. This kind of succession is generally very straightforward. How strange.

Alexander throws a grin his way. “Ah, yes...I fear I didn't make it to Alpha”. A shrug, easy and amused, while the tone stays perfectly cordial. It reminds Derek painfully of Peter's brand of terribly violent madness, kept away under layers of smooth talk and graceful acts, and his lips thin. “Logan's wife beat me to it. Right of marriage, apparently”.

So Logan had a wife. Well. That's new. Not exactly the kind of intel he hopes for, but he figures making conversation is better than getting the shit beaten out of him. “He was married? Wow. I pity the girl”. He cannot help his biting, ironic tone, but far from taking it badly, Alexander laughs, deep and seemingly genuine.

“Don't be”, he retorts. “She was as much as a disgusting, sociopathic bitch as he”.

 _Whereas you're the spitting image of balance and sanity_ , Derek almost throws back, but he bites his tongue on the words. Antagonizing the Gifted is a bad idea, and he suspects it's all Alexander is waiting for. The polite facade will crack, sooner or later – the tension cracking in the air is proof of that – but having a valid reason for hitting him would make this a lot easier on the older wolf.

Perfect excuse in case the Hales say something. Derek can imagine it perfectly: _he insulted me, and I lost it a little. Forgive me_ . Well, Derek certainly isn't going to make it so easy on the man. And the longer they talk, the more chance some kind of useful information will slip in – or so he tells himself, even if he doesn't truly believe it. But it's the only possibility.

“So you're still Second, then?”. He asks cautiously, awake of how thin the line between madness and sanity is in Logan's brother – so much thinner than in Peter. His lover ( _ex-lover_ he inwardly amends viciously) is mad on power and vengeance, but once he get it, maybe he'll be able to step back from his psychotic behavior.

But Alexander...Derek suspects he is crazy, truly and beyond any help. Broken in an irremediable way, probably by his older brother's terrible, ruthless use of him. And in a way, Derek gets it – if this wasn't an enemy, and the man who will without a doubt beat him blind, he could almost feel a measure of empathy, or something close to it.

The Gifted is mad, and yet Derek knows where he comes from. Gets him, in away he never understood his siblings or parents. He knows rage, the cut-clear clarity of utter fury, the way the world somehow becomes so much simpler - because there's only one thing left which matters: the object of your hatred. And when that is gone, as Logan is...

Maybe, Derek thinks, losing your only focus is worse than feeling the hatred itself. How much of Alexander's already questionable sanity was hinged on his desperate wish of revenge? Peter said once, that his hatred had kept him sane while in coma, and Derek...suddenly makes sense of the comment, for it's exactly what's under his eyes.

Peter is madness, yes, but reigned in, and indissociable from, _purpose_ . Alexander, on the other hand, is a kind of madness without any true sense left, and it's probably tearing his mind apart at the seams. He needs - or rather, needed - something, a new goal to keep going, and he found it. Vengeance, once more. On the one who took his prey.

On Derek. The young wolf bites his tongue, all of a sudden regretting his insightful comprehension of mad men's way of thinking. Because he knows, now, without a doubt, that his efforts at conversation, or even at maybe reaching out, are for nothing – Alexander will not leave him unscathed, no matter how well Derek play along. 

Not when hurting him is the Gifted's way to keep his mind in one piece. Alexander can't be reasoned with, not like this, not when his very survival is on the line, in a way of speaking. Just like Peter couldn't let go of his preys, not even for Derek himself – the thought makes a dark sneer twist his lips. He should have known.

He means nothing next to Peter's mad quest, because the Alpha's whole being, his very sense of self, survives on this insane hunt. _Find peace_ , Peter had said, but it's so much more than that, and Derek never stood a chance. If it was down to saving Derek's life or killing Kate, then his lover, ex-lover, would let him die hundred times over.

He closes his eyes, feeling exhausted to the bone. Fuck this, he decides. He's tired, so tired to have to fight, always. Always alone, because in the end, there's nobody else ready to stay. Just old little him, getting back on his feet over and over, and fuck, he just...

He sees a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and reflexes kick in no matter how weary he feels, three and half year's worth of almost monthly fighting and killing. He escapes having his left eye gouged out, barely, and instead Alexander's claws rake his raised forearm and bare check to the bone. And then the pain comes, throbbing and merciless, throwing everything in sharp relief.

His wolf rears up, metaphorically howling with rage, incensed at the sneak, powerful, and yet unprovoked attack, and Derek's senses expand so violently he goes dizzy with it. The smell of blood, the feel of hot, thick liquid all over his face...He can feel himself slipping into this terrible, mindless state, like he did back in the cave, and he panics.

He cannot do that, cannot show his hand like this. He has to make them all believe he as harmless as possible – especially Alexander, since he'll probably have to use surprise to kill him in order to escape...

Escape.

Derek huffs a snort of derisive laughter. Yes. He thought it. He still wants out there – when push comes to shove, in this moment when he'd only have to attack blindly to get himself killed and end it all, he still choses to cling teeth and nails to survival. To his pathetic, useless scrape of a plan. Not ready to let it go yet. Enduring even now.

Fuck. He never knew when to cut his losses and back down back in the day, so why should it change now? It'll probably turn out as his fucking epitaph, actually: _Derek Hale – he who was too much of a fool to ever let anything go_ . He laughs once more, low in his throat, dangerously close to hysteria, face stinging something fierce. Okay. Okay, why not?

One more for the road.

He takes a choked-off breath, forces his wolf to step down, almost shaking with the effort of it. _Not yet. Look like we're still binding our time, in the end_ . He blinks, and his vision blurs, caught for a second between the colorless view of a wolf and the bright eyesight of a man, before it finally settles. He rises his now hazel eyes to Alexander's.

The Gifted grins at him, almost boyish, and apparently far too cheerful and off his grinder to have noticed anything amiss with Derek. _Perks of having a crazy guy hitting you in the face_ , the young wolf muses darkly. _He doesn't notice when splattering your blood on the concrete has the opposite effect of what he's aiming for_ . “What was that for?”, he asks roughly.

Alexander's eyes narrow, and his smile suddenly withers. The backhand in the face, when it comes, is no surprise this time round. Doesn't make it hurt any less, especially as Derek rises his arm too late on purpose. Now his face feels like it's in pieces on the left side, but the young man clearly sees the other's tense back relax almost instantly.

Christ. Between Peter and Alexander, he couldn't even guess who's the worst. Votes are open: butchering men all around at the slightest occasion or repeatedly beating the shit out of a guy to feel better, what's worse? Fuck, once he's out of here, he never wants to see the nutcases again. Either of them. Crazy fuckers.

Alexander, aloof once more, has the gall to smile at him as he answers, “When you ask a question, it's only polite to listen to the answer. I don't like people having their minds elsewhere when I talk”. Derek licks his lips but ultimately choses to stay silent – he must remember to not be too confrontational. Not too meek either, too keep in character. Play the game. Again.

“But to answer you, no. I am not Second. Cheryl never liked me, and learning of my Gift didn't help our relation along in any way. She was more than happy to throw me out once Logan was dead”. Derek blinks at that, trying to bypass the pounding pain on his face to think it through. If the the man has been thrown out, then he's an Omega. A Gifted Omega.

There's no fucking way James would allow an Omega in his Pack. In his house. How the hell did Alexander manage this kind of feat? “How did you...?”. But even as he asks, something clinks in his memory. This day, a long time ago, on the path to the triskellion grave. The path cutting through neutral grounds.

He remembers thinking that Omegas knew better than to come here, rather chose to be constantly on the move...or to come under a Pack's protection in exchange for their services. “You proposed your Gift to Ja...to Alpha Hale in exchange for shelter”, Derek murmurs. It makes sense, too. The Alpha had wanted Derek's own Gift as well, once upon a time. On the trial. 

“Very good”, Alexander whispers. “You always were a clever little bitch”. The tone has tuned low, dangerous and sly, vibrating with a sub-vocalized growl all the way through. The Gifted eyes, back to deep brown, seem almost dark all of a sudden, glinting with insanity and vicious anger. “Like a viper, apparently weak and small, but deadly enough to take out an Alpha”.

Derek swallows, throat dry with fear and apprehension, and grits his teeth. Alexander moves without a sound, eyes disturbingly intent on Derek's broken, bruised, skin-open cheekbone, as if to point out the risk of a bad answer without a word, before he asks, “Where is the body?”.

Derek struggles not to look at the guy open-mouthed. It's the last thing he expected the older wolf to ask – he wanted to kill the Alpha himself, and now he...what? Wants to give him a proper burial? The young man frowns, but he isn't stupid enough to ask for precisions. And anyway, what his brother wants to do with Logan's body doesn't matter.

Because Derek has absolutely not idea where the fuck it can be. Jen took care of it, and he surprisingly didn't ponder ont its whereabout in-between ducking axe-blows under the freezing rain. There is nothing he can say – or rather, nothing that will please his interlocutor, if he can be called so.

He knows Alexander is monitoring his heart-rate, has since the second he stepped in the cell. He'll know it's the truth, and Derek suspects that it's this fact, more than anything else, that will make him fly off the handle. “I don't know. At all”. He says it clearly, even as he tenses every muscle, bracing himself as much as he can.

Alexander's face turns ugly, twisted with loathing and disgust, as the truth of Derek's words register. His whole body suddenly goes from false laid-back to full on aggression, rage setting his eyes ablaze, like two endless pits of black fire. Derek takes a short breath. _Here it comes_ .

He just has the time to tense before he feels the first punch, just below the solar plexus, a vicious, painful hit. He doubles over, ironically thankful the blow hasn’t been to the groin, and darkly amused at that thought while his stomach seemed to want to spill everything he hasn't eaten in the last hours or days. 

As if that had been some kind of signal, there are more punches and kicks, merciless, until Derek collapses on the hard, paved ground, barely catching himself on his forearms as to not smash his face on the concrete, desperate to breathe and not vomit, the pain sharp enough to forbid any form of coherent though. The first beating, he knows from a book on torture methods, is generally called ‘warming up’. 

Softens the prisoner up for future interrogation. Except Derek has no secrets to spill, no intel to give – this isn't about questioning, not truly. It's just...just Alexander taking his rage out on him.

Pain, and more pain, but not repetitive. Every kind of pain . . . different, sharp, pounding, tearing, blunt, crushing. Everything blurs together, dark and red flashing before his eyes, unable to predict where the next impact will come from. Derek contracts his muscles as much as possible, absorbing all the blows he can . No reasoning, just pure instinct to keep as much of himself intact as possible.

He screams, too, with what breath he has left, sobs and writhes, unable to try and play though – he has never felt like this, hits breaking and tearing everything in his body, werewolf force shattering his bones upon impact, feeling shreds of them pierce skin and intern organs alike. Bleeding inside and out, without interruption, his healing thus rendered useless.

He cannot think and yet somehow manages to keep his wits together, despite the raging pain. Fighting not the blows, unstoppable, but for the way he can feel his mind tilt and waver, resolution splintering a little bit more with each hit, each of his cries of pain - a silent fight to preserve the core of his being and will.

Eventually, the beating stops, almost as if Alexander has lost interest. It's completely random, too sudden for Derek to realize it on the moment, still curled up around his vulnerable midriff, dark bruises blossoming all over the skin uncovered by his torn shirt. He whimpers and reels, unable to gather his mind, shivering in shock and distress. 

His ears are ringing, breath heaving, as he tries to fight nausea and swallows the bile burning his mouth and throat. Too much damage: healing asks for energy and energy comes from nutrition – he hasn't eaten enough to be able to heal this kind of wounds without a long, drawn out and painful process. And too much fear as well, wolf on high alert, keeping him from unconsciousness.

He doesn't know how long he stays like this. Feels like hours upon hours, and maybe it is – there is no light, no scent, no heartbeat. No-one comes to check on him. Just his wheezy breathing, and the lancing pain in his ribs at each inhale and exhale filling the silence, like a sick mockery of a clockwork sound. And he is grateful of this noise – without it, he could think himself dead.

Time has no meaning, not with his perceptions as fucked up as they are. He closes his eyes in the end, once he is certain that Alexander is gone or at least won't hit him anymore, not yet – and he waits, feeling his battered body knit itself together, slowly, relishing every time when an ache fades out and then disappears.

His thoughts come back as well, precarious and brittle, circling in his broken skull and bloodied face. He cannot remember the beating beside a blur of horror, panic and pain and tears, half-shrinking on himself once more at the mere memory. A long shudder goes through him – he is coming down from the shock, finally, and his body feels like ice.

He carefully turns his head, blinks at the walls of his cell, and at the bed's steely footboard by his head. He supposes he should be grateful to have not cracked his skull on it. But again, it would have knocked him out something serious, so maybe it's more something of a missed opportunity. He closes his eyes again, briefly. Thinking is hard – too much. It hurts.

Still. Bed. And blankets. He's very cold, so...getting on the bed seems a good solution. And under the blanket, too. Yeah. It's...sound thinking. He hopes. But he'd need to get up. No. No, can't get up. He doesn't have the strength to move, nor the will. Too tired. But the bed is close, so maybe...Derek clenches his jaw, forces an arm out on the side.

Palming the icy ground, inch by inch, until he can touch the steel bar of the foot of the bed and then...it's like he's ripping his own shoulder and shoulder blade out all in one, and a low sound catch in Derek's throat but he keeps going, almost snarling with the effort and using up everything his wolf can give him. His hand fists on something cold but far less colder than the tiles on which he's laying – and the thing is soft and thin.

He gives a last, desperate tug, and the blanket fall away from the bed and atop his waist and legs; the perspective of some warmth gives him enough incentive than he weakly grabs at the thing until it's on his shoulders as well as covering half of his face; and he curls up into a tight ball, like a wounded dog trying to rest.

He cannot sleep, still. And he doesn't produce much body heat to keep comfortable under the already thin sheet. The ground is hard and unforgiving on his sore ribs and limbs. No matter: it's paradise. Derek feels a tiny part of the tension nestled into his very bones bleed away. Not much, but enough that he starts to feel the pull of exhaustion.

He ends up falling into a light doze, more from hypoglycemia and forced healing than from true willingness to abate his watchfulness – and jerks awake and up with a bitten off cry as he hears the key turn into the lock. Nameless panic jumps at his throat for a second, overriding the lancing aches, making him scramble away against the bed's frame.

But the smell of the newcomer is familiar – not that it means much considering the Hales left him to be beaten within a inch of his life, but whatever. He'd take any of them over Alexander time and time over. Even if the one family member getting in now is the one who left him with the Gifted earlier.

Derek doesn't know where he finds the strength to throw the blanket to the side and force his shoulders straight. Maybe it's the sudden wave of hatred, making him see red for a second. Ethan is carrying a plate, just like before, but this time there's no surprise in it for Derek. Only the will the get up – or crawl, who cares – and grab him, drag him down and start hitting.

Show him, tear him until he's the one crying and screaming his head off as bones break over and over...Derek digs his human mails into his thigh as hard and as deep as he can, forcing himself to breath tough the spike of inhuman rage. Calm. It's what Alexander wants – for Derek to lose it? To break. 

Maybe he even sent Ethan here for this exact purpose. Not hard to pint Derek as a horrible, heartless, rogue killer if they find him ripping his own brother to pieces – the idea that his resistance will spite the Gifted gives Derek determination. Well, that and the way his thoughts of murder being distracted with the sound of a plate hitting the floor. 

Again. “Well, that's a bit clumsy, brother mine. Especially from a werewolf”. Derek slowly rises a cool eyebrow in front of Ethan's horrified expression as he takes in the bloody, bruised pulp-like mess that he must look like. He can use this moment to call on the boy's sympathy and good heart. His brother is fourteen, and probably never saw the result of an intentional thrashing up.

He should play it tactically. 

He can't. Too much anger, and the irresistible need to vent it down, if not but deeds then by words. Derek stretches his lips in a wide, hard smile, conscious of his bloodied teeth and split lips, of the still healing tear on his cheek. He must look like something out of an horror movie – with a badly done make-up job. “Do you like it? Courtesy of you new best friend the Gifted out there”.

Ethan steps back like he's has been slapped, and Derek smiles grow fangs, turning into a malevolent sneer. “I must say, I admire the effort, even if the results were...unpleasant on my end. But, you know, creativity points, or something”. The teenager jerks almost convulsively, back to the door, with a keening, meaningless sound.

“What's wrong?” Derek lets the smile go and rises his head with a deep snarl, eyes defiant. “It's what you wanted, wasn't it? All of you”. Ethan shakes his head, and Derek's eyes narrow. “No?”. His voice suddenly softens, sweet as silk and more cutting than a blade. “Well, that's a surprise. I would have thought that leaving me here to be tortured by Alexander was...how to put it? “

Derek tilts his head in overly pensive fashion, and then clicks his fingers – which hurts like a bitch, but he is too incensed right now to let that stop him. “Ah, I know. Agreement by proxy. Doesn't sound half-bad. Or maybe just...burying your head in the sand kind of agreement? But it's longer, though – kind of a mouthful”. 

He levels an interrogative glance at the young, for all intent and purpose looking like they're speaking of the weather. “What do you think?”. And that's the last straw. Derek watches in morbid, savage satisfaction as Ethan lets out a broken sob and turns away blindly to tear the door open and rush out, livid and looking ready to throw up, steel slamming in his wake.

Derek lies back down, tired but somehow feeling better despise his throbbing skull and pain-filled body, and closes his eyes. _Serve you right, all of you. Fuckers_ . 

_You won't break me_ .


	22. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Terribly sorry for the wait, but here we go on chapter 21, where we delve a bit more into the Pack's mind - or at least the mind of two Pack members that you already know.  
> I'll add that the note from last chapter is still on: unpleasant depiction of torture and beatings. You've been warned.
> 
> As for the rest, hope you'll enjoy!

Derek blinks at the celling, slowly – he can't sleep. His healing has almost patched everything more or less together. Again. But no matter how weak he's feeling – beating on beating and bread and water don't make for a good recipe for high energy levels – he cannot fall into unconsciousness. Too awake, too aware. 

Too afraid.

And he hates himself for it, he does, but he can't help it. He flinches each time the door opens, pulse jumping up, the scent of his fear pregnant in the air for everyone to smell. Alexander, who laughed before getting back out, like he just wanted to check on the results of his little game in between hitting Derek blind. 

David, now in charge of his meals, who threw him a disgusted glance. Laura, shocked and yet, quote, “So sorry but you brought it on yourself by teaming with a murderer”, and Talia, face pale and lips thinned, but who stayed silent. James didn't bother coming, and Derek actually prefers it that way – doesn't want the Alpha to witness his weakness.

But his only hope, his only chance, has all but disappeared. Ethan didn't come since he fled from Derek's searing rage, and the young wolf cannot blame him. He was a fool to blow up at the boy that way – it had gotten him a few hours of feeling good and witty, for what? Breaking his own chance at escape.

Brainless idiot. Derek closes his eyes once more and takes a careful breath. His ribs give a harsh, painful twinge in protest, but it's certainly better than a few hours ago. It's the only way he has to measure time – if counting the number of time you're beaten up and broken to pieces can count as a good time frame.

And it's not. Because of course Alexander is crazy as they come but also far too smart to make his visits predictable – sometimes, he attacks, others it's just cutting taunts and mockery, his laugher echoing at Derek's ears long after he's gone. Betimes it's both: almost polite conversation before suddenly going off like some kind of bomb. You can never know beforehand.

And it's exhausting. Far beyond the simple thrash ups or the more and more difficult bouts of healing, it's the fear of the Gifted that's slowly but surely crushing Derek. Tension everywhere, always, cramps in muscles too tense of waiting for a blow, near-panic each time the door opens, no sleep...

Being weak physically is one thing. But feeling his will erode...he's not that far gone yet, but it'll happen. Fuck, he may snarl and show his teeth all he wants, the truth is, he's trapped here, like a wolf in a cage, and sooner or later he'll break – a some moment, when this will have gone for too long...

Disorientation. Starving. Beating. Fear. Lost hope...

He could take one, maybe two. But all of these, tangled together, making him helpless to do anything to save himself? He can't escape, not with his Gift sealed. He can't even fight, or take an hostage – David would be no match for him, but he only comes after a 'session', and Derek's sate after those doesn't allow anything other than lying on the ground where Alexander decided to leave him.

Reduced to a broken, beaten dog, without even enough strength left to bite anyone who come close.

And if it was only the fear...he's caching his drifting off thoughts more and more often, these days, a slow but unstoppable slide towards detachment and resignation. Often, as Alexander gets in the cell with this grin full of teeth that spells _beating_ , Derek just...stands here, blank and silent – braced for pain, but the way you tense reflexively rather than in defiance.

You won't break me. He remembers the wow, probably weeks old now, and tastes blood as his lips stretch into a grim, humorless smile. You fool, he thinks derisively, and turns on his side to stare at the door. Always watching, expecting it to open, expecting Alex to come back and beat him up. And once more, as certain as the tide, another wave of fear.

And when the fear finally subsides, there is only...emptiness. No, worse. The feeling of it, slipping in his very bones, sapping every inch of his mental strength, sordidly mirroring the physical state. Broken body, struggling to keep together, and broken mind desperately trying not to lose himself.

Broken. And soon, he'd stay that way – something would give, either his sense of self or his will or...something. He can feel it, the end of the rope and the abyss underneath.

And the knowledge that sooner or later, his grip will falter.

***

The footsteps are utterly, almost uncannily silent as the lithe, pale boy slips down the last steps toward the long, dark corridor. The eighth cell, he reminds himself, and throws an quick, anxious glance over his shoulder.

His own heartbeat is far too loud in to his own ears, messing with his naturally superior hearing, and he smells his own tension and stress over anything else. He forces himself to stop. Center himself, reign in, like he has been taught. Calm. Control. Focus outwards, not inwards. He can do this. There's only David and Laura left in the house, and they rarely pay attention to him.

There is no reason for anything to go wrong. But if...God, if he's caught... he'll be thrown out, alone. Or maybe...Maybe they'll do the same to him as they did to Derek. Throw him in a cell, hurt him...He doesn't know exactly what goes on with this Alexander guy, but he always leaves the cell smelling of blood and satisfaction, and he looks...

The boy's eyes suddenly tear up. He doesn't want that, he can't...Alexander is too terrifying, with this expression of absolute coldness, like nothing holds any interest for him except for hurting people. Hurting Derek. Badly enough that he heard him scream, more than once, something purely animal that made him bolt.

And what if Alexander catches his scent next time he comes because he stood here too long? Father...would Father defend him? Or would he believe that he's a traitor, too? Or...Or, what of becoming Omega? Nausea builds up in the boy's stomach, bile filling his mouth out of sheer terror.

Any thought of going to the cell slip his mind as he flees blindly, back on the steps and almost falling over in his haste, running away from the dark corridor and its heavy steel doors.

***

In the cell, Derek stirs and opens his eyes, a hint of a frown marring his face. He could swear he heard...someone. Not Alexander, he's far too attuned to his heartbeat to ever miss recognizing it. No. It was...sounded like someone else. 

A tiny part of him rears its head up at this, almost animal in its curiosity, breaking through his indifferent cocoon, and Derek bypasses his exhaustion to prop himself up on an elbow with a muttered curse. He strains his ears, but there's nothing but silence, and his lips thin. Did he dream it? Is he so far gone he starting to hallucinate? To imagine an hypothetic ally?

He sits in the middle of the bed. He should let it go, should brush it aside...He can't. It's like an irrepressible tug. _Follow your instinct. Trust your senses_. The fact that everything is messed up, his head in jumbles and his body hurting like a bitch doesn't seem to matter; the predator in him has roused, sufficiently that the fog of despair clouding Derek's mind lifts a little.

He drags a careful hand down his face, wincing when he brushes the bruises – still, it clear his thoughts, after a fashion. He closes his eyes, forces himself to remember. He's a werewolf – their senses always register more input than the human brain can treat. A lot of information is lost in the bargain. Unless Derek goes and try to get the extra intel.

Alright. He was dozing – not sleeping, not ever, not anymore. So dozing, eyes closed. Everything dark and silent. Just his own breathing, and the throb of wounds, so familiar it was almost like a comfort. As long as he still hurts, he's still alive. He had been lying here, all of his focus inwards, lulled into a state of rest by his own heartbeat in his ears.

And then...it had been a sound, yes. Barely perceptible, almost unnoticeable with his perceptions metaphorically curled up around himself like a blanket. He had stirred – not enough of a feeling of danger to jolt awake, but an incongruity sufficiently strange for him to take note of it. Because it hadn't been Alexander: he knew the other's heartbeat in seconds, half-awake or not.

But what had truly woken the animal part of him, curiosity and a sense of urgency like a spike in his gut, had been something else. The heartbeat had barely lasted a second, unrecognizable, especially with Derek so weak, but then...there had been another sound, dragging him from his light sleep to true watchfulness.

The sound of feet pounding on the ground. Like...a run. Already fading – echoing in his ears for just a moment. Someone had ran away. Someone who wasn't Alexander, obviously. Suddenly, Derek felt awareness slam back into him, tearing through the slow decay of his will, shaking him to his core.

He had given up. Ready to die, to let Alex do what he wanted. A puppet with its strings cut, because what was the point of fighting when there was nothing, absolutely nothing you could do to save yourself? 

Derek takes a deep breath, feels his ribs lance savagely, and swallows, throat dry. Dread is coiling in his stomach, and he exhales shakily – what now? So there's someone who was getting down here to see him and lost his or her nerve. If anything, it proves how unreliable and weak-willed they are. It gives him nothing.

Nothing...or everything. 

Hope. Maybe. If he has the courage to take it, the strength to fall into another fight of wills and wits and acting with Alexander. Once again, when he already lost the first round, almost breaking under the strain of torture and mocking, mind coming terribly close to splintering into pieces. If he does this again, clings to this...shard of hope, and it breaks between his hands...

Sometimes, hope kills more surely than a blade. He won't get back up from that – he knows it, as surely as he knows he's a wolf, or an Omega, or a Gifted. If he falls, it'll be the last time: this is the utter limits of his strength, of his endurance. And yet...

Yet. If he's to fall anyway, then why not go down fighting? Be as crazy as Peter, as Alex, and concentrate all his will – or what's left of it - on a last, foolish, impossible bet? He has nothing left to lose, after all. His life? It's already in pieces, along with a good chunk his mind, shredded by Alex and Peter and the Hales alike, Derek thinks somberly. 

He has nothing left. Nothing except, maybe, a will of steel now seriously dented, and the pit of burning rage buried deep into his chest, almost smothered to nothing. Useless, or nearly. He won't go far with this as his only weapons.

But someone had been here. 

Someone who had been terribly afraid of being caught, or of being hurt, someone young enough to be shaken, probably shocked, by Derek being tortured. Ethan, maybe. He had been shaken, if still furious. Or Marie. Or any of the youngs. Derek closes his eyes once more. Whoever they are, they'll be nothing but pathetic allies. Barely worth the risk.

But enough for him to use them. Time to stop playing nice – Peter was right, as he usually is, but this time Derek won't forget the lesson. Loyalty gets you nothing, and the only person you can count on is you. The others are nothing but pawns to be used or threats to be brought down, and that's exactly what Derek is going to do.

What he should have focused on from the very start, rather that trying to appeal to Ethan, or to understand any of the Hales – they are of no consequence. There's only one thing keeping Derek prisoner and that's Alexander's Gift. 

And the fastest way to get rid of the problem is very simple in hindsight, if complicated to act on:he has to kill Alexander.

But first things first...he has a mysterious family member to lure in the wolf's den.

***

It's hard to keep enough of a clear head to plan – and even harder to hold on to the plan once he has designed it. But it's a chance, as little as it may be, and it's more than what he had before, and that gives him the strength to not falter.

What got him his ally's sudden burst of courage, he reasons, – and courage it must have took to risk defying Alpha Hale and Alexander both – has to be indignation. Indignation at the way he's treated, shock at his general state; their white-and glint-y vision of the word scratched and tilted by the horror of the torture happening in the basement. 

It wasn't enough for them to overcome the fear of being caught out – but Derek can make that change.

At first, he lets everything stay as it was. Lets Alex beat the shit out him everyday or so, stays down like a rag doll, whimpers and moans and begs, and doesn't react when the Gifted gloats and mocks. Broken on all accounts and for anyone to see. 

He keeps screaming, keeps reminding whoever was here that he's still being used as a punching-ball. Makes them remembers that the reason of their horror and terrible outrage is down here – keeps the flame of childish indignation burning. Waiting, and trowing his own form of psychological warfare in the game; pushing guilt deeper and deeper.

Each session with Alex, each broken bone and scream, each drop of blood teared out of him becomes not another crack in his armor but another way to remind his would-be ally of what his hesitation allows to happen – driving them to the most fragile state of mind he can think of.

Of course, he has no way to check if his strategy works – he cannot stay awake all the time, not in his general state. Cannot afford to miss on rest and sleep even as light as it is; it's the only thing still keeping his healing up as far as it still can work, which isn't much these days. In fact it's even going lower and lower.

Exhaustion and pain and low energy are still a painful reality. Fear gnawing and mind still brittle: he won't last long – his foolish plan is a powerful, but short-lived jolt. Purpose and hope will sustain him for maybe a little while longer, but not forever. What he had imagined as a slow going plan – to not risk repeating the same mistake as Ethan, whom he pushed away stupidly – won't work.

The Gifted wants to break him, and Derek needs to resist long enough to break though the fear keeping his ally from acting. In the end, this is nothing less but a race between him and Alexander – a race with Derek's survival as the prize. 

If it wasn't for his half-broken state and the constant tide of darkness lurking in his mind, threatening to destroy his already-frail resolve to nothing, it would almost be like old times.

***

Once more, despite his efforts, the days blur together into weakness and pain; pain of blows and pain of healing, and Derek forcing his mind on one single thought, imagining it in big, red letters, flashing like neon in his head.

_Hold on. Just hold on. To your sanity. Your will. Whoever they are, they'll break_ – guilt is one of the most heavy weight to bear when it come to it, Derek knows it better than most. A kid won't last, and he's pretty certain his indignant ally is one of the kids. He just has to keep together, and wait.

And never acknowledge the little, mocking voice in his head murmuring that he's delusional. 

_What are you worth, huh? Your uncle left you to us, to me. None in your family as much as beats an eye about your state. And hand in his hair, snapping his head up violently, making Derek teeth painfully rattle together. I could kill you, slit you throat right here, and no-one would miss you._

_No-one cares about you, because no-one can love a rabid Omega, Gifted and without any loyalty. Your a murderer, Derek, nothing else. A beast avid of blood, brutal and vicious, a remorseless betrayer – did you ever felt guilt over their death? Logan, and all the people you killed?_

_Like an animal on the prowl, awaiting to be shot like you deserve..._

Derek closes his eyes, pushes back Alexander's insidious voice down, but it just makes it worse, like he's running away uselessly, barely keeping his head-start on this mounting, coiling wave of darkness leaping at his heels.

The race is still on, and he's still running. But sometimes it feels like he has lost already, madness and despair coming ever-closer with every hour of every day – he's falling back into the abyss, inch by inch. And there's nothing he can do about it. Nowhere to flee, no way to escape – endure is all he has left. Come on the other side, somehow. Or break into pieces.

Mad quest, indeed.

***

Derek groans and opens his eyes, head swimming – everything lurches when he tries to turns his head, and he feels bile crawl up his throat. What...happened? He lets out a wheezing, cautious breath and almost blacks out from the spike of pain that follows.

When the dark veil on his vision clears, he tastes blood on his lips and grimaces. He must have bit his tongue. Hard. Not that he's feeling it over the savage, constant throb of his chest. And back. And...everywhere, really. But the ribs seem to be the worst of it, so that passes first.

He manages to lift a hand to press it against his ribcage, trying to get a feel for damage beyond the pounding in his skull and his incapacity to take a full breath. What he meets doesn't exactly look good: the bones on the right side have caved in, breaking in what seems to be inwards. Nothing has pierced the skin, but the lungs...that's another story.

He closes his eyes – he hasn't died from suffocating in his own blood, so the internal damage must have healed at least a minimum. But that's it. He blacked out, but even full unconsciousness wasn't enough for his body to repair itself. His healing cannot keep up anymore – the next beating will kill him as sure as the moon rise in the sky.

He lost. 

He held out as much as he could; teeth and nails, with all he had. But it's the end – he can feel unconsciousness creeping in once more; he doesn't even have the energy to stay awake, not anymore.

He lost. He lost and the last image he takes with him as he goes under is, damn the man, the face of Peter, eyes glowing a gentle, deep neon red, as bright and vivid as freshly spilled blood. _Fuck you_ , Derek thinks with the last of his strength, but even in his own head, it sounds drained of any venom. What's the point of hating him now?

_See you in hell, love. Or wherever else we both end in_. 

***

“ _No_ ”.

The boy is standing in the room, arms crossed, lips pressed together stubbornly, glaring at his interlocutor, who's sitting on the bed and looking at him half-desperately. “No”, he first boy repeats, shaking his head for emphasis. “Hell no. I'm not going to defy Father for a _murderer_!”.

The other teen rises from the bed at that, eyes flashing. “You don't know that”, he protests vehemently. “It's just...”. He lowers his voice slightly on the name, “... _Alexander_ 's version. What proof do we have that Derek really killed Logan? He just landed here, bloody and beaten, and you all leaped up like dogs at his story! He...”.

“...had half his face burned out with wolfsbane, and was shaking with distress?”.

The mocking, harsh cut-off doesn't deter the second boy, who wave the argument on the side. “I'm not saying he didn't need shelter and he wasn't in shock. But...”. He rubs his hands over his face. “He's a stranger, okay? A dangerous stranger – I...God, you know what he's doing to Derek! Fuck, I thought you were friends, Ethan!”.

Ethan clenches his jaw, eyes flaring yellow for a second, proof of his rage. “ _Were_ being the key word here, John. He lied to me, used me, played friends, while he truth, he was just conspiring to get an Alpha's power – I was a pawn, nothing more”. The young man swallows raggedly. “Fool me once, but not fucking twice. So fuck off!”.

John frowns, looking at his fourteen years-old younger brother. Ethan is almost shaking with anger and pain of what he sees as a betrayal, and in a way he can understand. The state they'd found the stranger – Alexander, their father had said – in...The man had been ranting wildly in the throws of wolfsbane-induced fever, half of his face ripped off and infected with poison and infection, shaking with grief. 

He had come close to dying.

He hadn't. Thanks to Ethan, mainly, for his brother had taken quite a hand in the wounded's care, inexplicably taken with the stranger. He had been here staying at the man's besides, brushing off sweaty hair and calming his brutal anxiety attacks and nightmares. He had been the first Alexander had talked to, and when the man had given the name of his attacker...

Yeah. He can get it. Learning that a man you consider a friend, or even a big brother figure, was rabid enough to take on an Alpha and his Second, and had fallen low enough to use wolfsbane, of all things...Betrayer of his race, of his Pack. Liar. Murderer. 

John sighs. The blow had been harsh, for Ethan. For him, too, in a way.

He still remembers the somber man in the hospital corridor, features marked with stress and worry as he stalked towards Peter's room after telling their Father off – he had followed this day, out of some kind of impulse, and what he had said...He's ashamed of his words even today – _I don't get why you saved me_. Speak of an ungrateful little shit.

_Me neither_ , Derek had retorted, face twisted by rage. _Because all it brought us is pain and rejection and abandon_. And it's true. He gets Ethan's rage, but at the same time...Betrayal means that you actually broke trust with someone, and what trust or even loyalty can you ask from a man you threw out even after he saved the life of a brother?

What any right have they, Ethan or him, or even the Pack, to judge Derek's actions? What do they know of being Omega, of being alone and weak, and Gifted on the top of it? The simple idea of the Pack leaving him behind is enough to make John break out in cold sweat; so feeling hatred from every member of your kin?

He glares at Ethan without bothering to hide his contempt. “And whose words are these? Yours, or Father's? Or maybe Alexander's?”. His brother goes livid with fury, but John doesn't give him a chance to protest. “You say he is a murderer, and yes, apparently it's true, and I admit that I'm not okay with that. But...”.

John bits his lips, trying to organize his contradictory ideas and feelings about Derek in some kind of order. “He always was here for us. He came to save us, to fight, and he never asked anything in return – he was here at the Great Cliffs to save me from my stupidity, and he fought with us against the Hunters. And saved you life while he was at it, in case you forgot”.

He steps to Ethan, eye to eye, ready to try and infuse his words with all the conviction he can. But he sees the other's mouth twist in a sneer, and he speaks quickly, cutting the mocking remark short before it comes out. “Yes, I know, I took my time finding a backbone. You can keep your venom, brother”. 

He takes a breath. “I'm not here to fight”. He grabs Ethan's arm, hard. “But I want you attention, at least for a few seconds, and I want you to think on what's I'm gonna say – we're not twelve anymore, so let's act like it, yeah?”. He waits until the other nods grudgingly. “In the end, it's very simple” An indeed, no need for grand speeches.

“No matter what Derek became, you – we – owe him. He saved our lives, Ethan. The last you could do is to give him a chance to give his side of the story before believing every word out of a torturer's mouth”. John rises a cold eyebrow. “Unless you think _that's_ justified?”.

“Of course not!”. Ethan rips his arm from John grip, features half-shifting for a second before he get the transformation under control. There's a glint in his eyes, pain and doubt belying the anger, before his expression hardens once more. “But I told you, I'm not going to risk ending up Omega for him – if you want to help him, do it alone!”.

And on that, Ethan storms out, slamming the door behind him, and John passes a hand through his hair. Alone, huh...he tried that once. He truly hoped Ethan would agree with him – but visibly it's not the case, and...he doesn't know he he has enough courage to dare to the end, to free Derek and pay the price for it. He couldn't even go to the cell the other night before he was suffocating with fear and running away like a coward.

Maybe Ethan will change his mind, given time, but...John's not sure of how much of that they have. Surely, Derek's healing cannot cope up indefinitely? He doesn't know. In all frankness, he doesn't know anything, not even what he truly thinks of Derek. Of what he became and what he did – maybe he really turned rogue.

But if there's one thing John is sure about, it's that he doesn't like Alexander – doesn't like how easily he slipped inside the Pack and everybody bowed like it's natural. And hearing Derek scream, and seeing no-one react...It's not normal either. He has his doubt about the Pack's way of functioning, but they're no sociopaths.

He didn't dare to say it to Ethan – to confide in him all the way was too risky. But he's starting to wonder is their new Pack member is as innocent and harmless as he try to seem. Throwing people out is one thing. Standing aside and leaving torture to happen, over and over, is quite another. He refuses to believe his family would stand on the side of that.

Alexander did something, John's stake his life on it – and there's only one person who isn't on Alexander's side in the house, who knew him before hearing his sob story of horror and betrayal. One one man who can tell John if he's being a paranoid fool or if his mistrust and worry for the Pack are warranted.

Derek.


	23. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I find a bit of time to post this (for my defense, it's finished since about a month, but I was really too busy with RL). Anyway, I apologiez for this terrible delay. I know it's been a long time since the lest chapter, but I dare hope that some readers still follow this verse ;)
> 
> Enjoy !

“...better things to do than spending my afternoons nursing his sorry ass! If Alexander wants him in a cell so bad, he can go and give him his meals as well!”

Laura outright growls at David, eyes flashing red, and John hastily draws back into the shadow of the kitchen's door. He's so not stepping into that. And what the hell has gotten into the both of them anyway?

“Alexander is trying to gather his Pack once more. It's a worthy goal, and even if it wasn't, I fail to see how gaming all day on the computer is a 'better thing to do”. Face it, David. If you want to claim being busy, at least find something useful for the Pack to be busy with. As it stands, you're largely useless to us.”

John starts at the callous words. Laura always has been a bit harsh, with the whole Alpha-to-be thing, but that really was... spiteful. True, maybe. But real mean. The sister he remembers wouldn't do that. None of them should be like this! Letting their temper flare, letting Derek being tortured withing an inch of his life... This is _not_ the Hale Pack.

He grits his teeth and whirls round, only to meet Ethan's shocked gaze. His younger brother stands in the corridor, probably drawn in by the sounds of the row as well. John throws him a pointed, cold glance, before shouldering past him without a word. He gets up the stairs to his room and bathroom, slamming the shower on.

As he throws off his sweat-soaked shirt, he cannot help but think of what he just saw. Everything is deteriorating – Laura's disregard and coldness, David's apathy, Ethan's shocking bias towards a near stranger... And father opening the house to Alexander like it's natural ! Well. Admittedly, the guy was bad off. It was kind of terrifying, actually.

A shiver passes on John's back at the memory of Alexander's half melted face, ravaged by poison and oozing blood and black goo... The young wolf jumps under the hot shower, trying to shake of the terrible recollection. He saw blood and death that day when the Hunters attacked, three years ago. He attacked, learned fight and wounds.

And he is a werewolf. He is used to gore and rage. To war, even, to a certain extent. His species seems involved in it even when they're mostly pacifists. The animal instinct, maybe.

But Alexander's sate... he had never seen anything like it. It wasn't only the carnage of the injuries. It was the fever, the near-madness, the frame raked with shivers and the only visible eye, filled with unspeakable terror. As far as they could gather, the man had crawled to the house in a desperate attempt to get way from his attacker.

His attacker... a man capable of killing an Alpha in cold blood, even through the man had never did anything to him. Worse, Logan had helped after the fire. The Callen leader had saved them all from questioning and police investigation. And yet, the assailant had slaughtered him unprovoked, before trying to off his Second as well.

A man who used wolfsbane, and left Alexander to die one of the most terrible, painful death known to a werewolf. A remorseless, cold-blooded killer. And a traitor. 

Derek.

John turns the water as hot as he can stand it, desperately trying to clear his confuse, ambivalent thoughts. Yes, Derek is not a good man : from what John knows and the few queries he dared to make, his older brother has turned rogue. Absolutely and fully. That point isn't Alexander's doing.

But rogue or no... he doesn't deserve that. No-one does. The memory of the screams, terrible, low-pitched, barely human anymore, makes him swallow bile. He has to do something. He has to, because nobody else will, especially if they're ensnared by Alexander somehow. But what can he do, one young beta against his own Alpha, his own Pack ?

John finally steps out from the shower, grabs a sweatpants and lets himself fall on his bed without a care for the water dripping on the mattress. With a sigh, he rolls over... freezes when he smells Ethan's scent over the shampoo's, at the same second something hard digs in his ribs.

Slowly, John rises to an elbow and takes the cell phone thrown on his bed. It's not his, still lying on the nightstand. He brings it on, half-thinking that his brother left him some message by a weird interposed mobile-way, only to feel his mouth go dry – with terror and dread, and maybe just a tiny bit of hope. 

It's not his phone, but it's not Ethan's either. Because there's only one contact listed in, under the “P” letter.

_Peter._

***

For a week, there's nothing. 

Nothing but the howls from the basement, and, one night, something so high-pitched that John cannot believe it comes from an human's throat. And after, absolute silence. The stench of burned flesh spills out when Alexander opens the metallic door, and for once, John isn't the only one who looks like he's going to throw up his dinner.

“What have you done ?” Thalia hisses, sounding shocked and angry at the same time. There's something in her eyes, a glint that had faded in the last weeks, now back at full force : the remainder of why so many in the community fear the Hale matriarch even through she's no Alpha.

Alexander stops in his tacks and turns agreeably back towards them. “Ah, yes, forgive me. I probably should have done that at another moment.” His eyes glint softly, an gentle, careful amber glow, and he says it with a gall that makes John want to hit him in the face. But Thalia's frown falters, and with it, the tension around the table.

“I'm not sure if...”

“If he he is a disgusting, manipulative, arrogant son of a bitch ? Let me remove your doubts, then, dear sister-in-law of mine.”

The sardonic voice cuts through the air like a whip, so unexpected that for a second, no-one seems to be able to react. And then Thalia and James go to their feet, Laura growls fit to crumble walls, and Alexander whirls round towards the stranger popped up against the living room's frame. The show of rage and bared fangs doesn't seem to impress Peter Hale in the slightest.

In fact, he looks almost amused. Or he would if he didn't reek of hatred and rage and blood, red eyes full of an predatory, ruthless glow. He's watching them all without any signs of aggressiveness, and yet at the same time, John has seen rogue Omegas with less murderous intent. He swallows, terror clawing at the back of his throat, unable to not step back. It was a mistake. Gods, what had he been thinking, to leave a message on the man's answer-phone ?

_Derek... Derek needs you. Please, he'll die if... please._

It had been all he'd found the courage to say before hanging up. No name, no address, no precisions. Nothing for his uncle to find him, them, and when the man had failed to show up, he had thought : this is it. You've done what you could. 

But now, Peter is here. 

He came, even if it meant defying the whole Pack, meant putting himself in danger. _He came_. For _Derek_ , on the basis of a single, barely intelligible message. Suddenly, John feels something akin to shame squeeze his chest. Would the Hales, any of them, do the same for each other ? They love each other, of course they do. They're family. But this kind of devotion ? It's... humbling, in a way.

And terrifying in others, because they all saw what Derek was capable of in Peter's name, but if the reverse is true... maybe his parents and siblings share his fright and hesitation, because James' voice is rough as he asks :

“What are you doing here ? You have no right to be on Hale territory.”

“And I have no intention of staying on it”, Peter responds coldly, the disdain high and clear in his voice. “I'll gladly leave you to your pathetic excuse for a Pack, once I found the one I came for. Where is he, James ? _Where's Derek ?_ ”

The last sentence is uttered without bared fangs or even a growl, but the treat is here all the same, glacial and insidious. Peter may not care about them, if they stand in his way, John has a feeling the Alpha will have no claim in slaughtering them all.

“You're too late.”

Peter slowly pivots towards Alexander, who has stepped back next to the basement's door. The Callen Second has a savage smile playing on his lips, malicious glee and mad hatred mixing on his face.

“You're too late”, he repeats as he opens the heavy door. “He payed for what he did to me with each of his screams. For weeks after weeks. And now, I finished hi...”

John doesn't even see it happen. He barely catches the Peter's nostrils flaring, catching the scent of fire and melted flesh, notes the flash of dark fury in his eyes, hears the sound of teared clothes... and then Alexander's hand, still holding to the door handle, is crushed in a mess of blood and bones under the paw of the monstrous shape of something vaguely wolf-like.

The Second opens his mouth on a scream, but the beast slams down on him, bringing him to the ground, slashing and tearing him ton bloody pieces, headless of the howls of pain and terror, or even to the cries of mercy. There's red, red everywhere, and the only things John can smell is hemoglobin and rage.

And beyond the rage, a despair so immense that he almost chokes on it. He only smelt this kind of utter, bottomless grief in wolves losing their mate – when grandfather David died years ago, Marie had smelled exactly like that, out of her mind with soul-crushing sadness. He doesn't know what he's doing when he steps away from Thalia protective embrace to approach the monster in their dining room.

He doesn't even know why he's doing it, except that Derek saved his life twice over, his and Ethan's and the Pack's, and he feels he owes him this, somehow. “Stop.” His voice is barely higher than a murmur, and yet the Alpha turns around at terrifying speed, throwing droplets of scarlet everywhere to bare his teeth at him.

And yet, John holds his ground despite his full-body flinch. He's been a coward for a long time – maybe still now. But he's a Hale, and the Hales pay their debts, especially when it's debts on their lives. “He's not dead. Do you hear ? His heart is _beating_. Peter, he... he needs you now. He's alive, but he needs you to help him.”

The... _thing_ – he cannot call it a wolf, not this twisted shape so far from their Father lithe grace when he fully turns – watches him with eyes that are nothing but madness and thirst for revenge, the large chest heaving with the breaths of an enraged animal. It – Peter - smells of blood and death, any lucidity seemingly lost in his instincts.

But it does stop moving to tilt its enormous head, and for a second, blue flashes in the bloody red of his pupils, the blue of Peter's eyes, the man surfacing just long enough to listen, hear, and understand. And then it whirls round, pushing John to the side, into the wall, without care, to throw itself trough the doorway to the basement. 

The sound of broken bones fills the air when the animal forces its way into the narrow entry, but it doesn't even slow the monstrous wolf down a second : it disappears, tearing through the dark and the shadows of the corridor, towards the one he came for.

Towards Derek.

**Author's Note:**

> Go ahead and criticize - I'd love to hear your thoughts^^


End file.
